The Love Below
by Magic Mind
Summary: Mello and Near are competing for L's title. But are they also competing for his love? LxMxN. YAOI.
1. New Arrival

_Author's Note:_

_I feel obliged to start out by giving a few warnings for this story. First and foremost: The Love Below will deal almost exclusively with such issues as underage sex, sex with an authority figure, and sex with multiple partners. In accordance with such topics, the story will rarely be lighthearted. My hope is that the end product is meaningful, psychologically complex, somewhat dark, and novel length. The Love Below will stick to parts of the Death Note canon that are only alluded to in the manga/anime, namely, Mello and Near's years of competition to be L's successor._

_Plans, I have such plans for this one. My reach will probably exceed my grasp, but that won't stop me from trying. Gosh, I'm so excited. Even if I end up with the weirdest, least popular fanfic ever, I know I'll be happy I took the chance and wrote it._

_Beware the first chapter. I worked really hard on establishing tone and giving out only the right information to start the story, so plot may seem nonexistent right now. But things are moving (if only inside my head right now) and eventually there will be major developments in the way of romance. Just gotta work through exposition and such. I'm reasonably confident that things (read: yaoi) will pick up steadily. Hopefully the parts before then will be interesting too. :)_

_A note on organisation: Each chapter will alternate POV. The first one is told from Mello's side of things, the next will be Near. So Near fans, your time will come. :) I love them both in different ways, so I'm happy. There will likely be no chapters from L's POV. There are a couple of reasons for this. 1) Even though this is a L x M x N romance, L is very much a superior among the three, so telling the story from his viewpoint would disrupt readers' experience of Mello and Near's competition. I think. And 2) writing from L's POV just plain scares me. Besides his brillance, he's almost a complete mystery. Maybe when I'm more comfortable in the Death Note fandom..._

_Ok, I think it's time to end this. I hope you enjoy the first chapter of The Love Below: New Arrival._

_

* * *

_Chapter One - New Arrival

Sometimes a person thinks they know what their life will be like. They see the future as if it were a path ahead of them: straight and narrow. Pace yourself and keep your toes in line, these Seers tell themselves, and you'll go exactly where you're supposed to.

These people often do accomplish just what they set out to. They rarely do anything of any great importance, but they live relatively happy lives and die with few regrets.

Other kinds of people never know exactly what their lives will be. They search and search for a path, never finding it, or perhaps just never finding the right one. Look and then look harder, the Searchers tell themselves. You have a purpose, you just have to find it.

These people sometimes discover their purposes and sometimes they don't. They often go through life feeling unfulfilled, and die the same way, but they usually produce at least one memorable thing with their time.

Neither kind of person is inherently better than the other. Neither approach guarantees success or failure in the grand scheme.

The problem is that sometimes people confuse themselves. Sometimes a person only thinks that they're following a path when in fact they aren't. They think they know their capabilities and what they'll end up accomplishing, but in reality, the path they think they're following doesn't even exist.

These kinds of people are rare. They can go for years, decades, half their lives before they realize that they are actually Searchers, not Seers like they thought.

The unfortunate thing is: by then, it is usually too late. They've started their lives as Seers do, making preparations, working hard, only to find that some unforeseen complication has arisen. Now they are Searchers, with a pretend path swept up from underneath their feet.

These people fall. And on the way down, they wonder how they never saw the signs...

* * *

Mello's first thought when he saw the place was: I wonder if they'll make us clean it. Wammy's looked like it would require more than a few hands to keep in order and Mello was never overly fond of housework. Even obscured by the darkness of the clouds and the blanket of drizzling rain, Mello could see that Wammy's House was big, maybe the biggest building he'd ever seen.

It was easily three stories, maybe four, and had the majestic, somewhat frightening look of a church. The front wall alone boasted twelve gigantic windows, all arched magnificently and crossed with iron. The brick looked worn but still sturdy, a deep red color that made Mello think of smoldering fire. At each corner of the building were raised towers, topped by gently sloping spires. Each aspect of the place seemed to evoke a quiet power, as if the most influential and important treasures rested behind its walls.

On the whole, it pleased Mello immensely and he recited the Glory Be in thanks.

"This is Wammy's." said Roger, moving to Mello's side. "Since it will be your home for the foreseeable future, I do hope you like it."

He turned to gaze upon the mansion thoughtfully, ignorant of the rain falling and soaking through his cardigan. Mello watched Roger's chest swell slightly as he gazed and he fancied he could sense a bit of his own impression of the place in Roger's eyes. Wammy's was worthy of contemplation and no small bit of respect, even just the brick walls and glass windows of the outside.

"I like it." Mello said in turn. "It reminds me of a church."

Roger nodded. He adjusted the round frames of his glasses before saying, "Yes, it used to be one. A Catholic school for boys. St. Anthony of Padua's."

St. Anthony, the patron of lost objects. A member of the Franciscan Order, the first friar to teach theology to the other monks and to preach to the heretics on the outside. Mello knew that he was credited with converting many and with reassuring those who had once been lead astray.

Roger abruptly turned and took the larger of Mello's bags.

"Now, let's get out of this rain, shall we?" he asked briskly, and started up the lane.

Mello grasped the other tightly in his hand (opting not to use the shoulder strap) and followed him.

"This will be your room."

They stood in front of an oak door, one brass handle level with Mello's shoulders. Mello wondered idly if there was a place on earth that fashioned children's rooms to children's standards. How would it feel to lower his hand when he opened a door instead of raise it?

Still, it had to be better than before. Mello would gladly stretch to open doors and reach to close windows if it meant living here instead of -

Mustn't think of it. Mustn't dwell. Wammy's was his home now, and that was what mattered.

"All children here are allowed their own rooms, since we have no shortage of them. You are allowed to visit friends in their rooms when you wish but you will return to your own at the end of every day. Your room is your own space, to do with as you wish."

Mello internally rejoiced. He could be a messy as he wanted. He could leave clothes on the floor. He could write on the walls if he wanted!

"But I must warn you," Roger continued, perhaps noticing his glee. "Whatever you choose to do to your room will not be changed or replaced through the duration of your time here. You have choices, but you also have consequences. Remember that."

Mello nodded, because he knew that Roger expected him to. Consequences he understood. Things happened, which caused other things to happen, and then those happenings caused others in turn. That's the way the world had worked so far, and Mello had no reason to suspect that it would change.

Roger then reached out and turned the brass door handle. The door swung open to reveal one single bed along the south wall, one wardrobe in the corner, and a desk to his right, all in dark cherry wood. Mello instantly started planning how he would rearrange his furniture. Not for any particular purpose, but simply because he could. Maybe he would push the bed frame into the very middle of the space and shake things up...maybe he would just throw the mattress on the floor, the better to jump up and down on.

As he was pondering, Roger set his bag on the floor next to the desk. He took a seat on the accompanying chair and took a deep breath. It looked like he was preparing to say something important.

"Mello. Your biggest job while you are here is proving yourself. It is imperative that you understand what your work and effort mean to Wammy's and to your own future. Do you remember what I told you about school here?"

Mello nodded, still considering floor plans in the back of his mind. "You said that school would be different than it was before. That it would be harder, and that I wouldn't be in class with slower kids anymore."

"That's right. You will have your lessons with children like you. It will be hard for you to imagine now, but soon you will see that school is not always boring and that you won't always know the answers. Sometimes, your classmates will perform better than you will. Sometimes, they will know things you don't."

Mello nodded again. He had heard all of this before.

Roger continued. "What you must always remember is that you will be in competition with your classmates."

Mello was rapidly becoming bored with the conversation. Of course they would be in competition. Life was always competition, didn't Roger know that?

"This competition is important, Mello." Roger said next. "It will determine where you go when you leave Wammy's. You will have a future even if the others perform better than you -"

Here Mello scoffed mentally. Who would do better in school than him?

"But if you perform better than all the rest, you will become a detective. The best detective in the world." Roger paused. "I don't expect you to fully understand what that means now. Suffice it to say: the child that finishes first here will be the adult that finishes first out there."

Mello knew he would be that child. He had never yet fallen behind anyone and he had no intention to start now. "When will I know when I've won?" he asked.

Roger smiled indulgently. "Your confidence will be an asset but complacency will be a serious liability. Every child's standings are listed in the dining room at the end of every testing period. You will know when you've won, if indeed you have, when the current detective knows. That will not likely be for years yet, however."

"Who is the current detective?" asked Mello. Knowing your judge was nearly as influential on your performance as your own ability was, after all.

"You will meet him, eventually. Right now, just know that he is looking for the best to succeed him. He will settle for nothing less. His name is L."

Something of the expression that he wore while looking on the mansion shone on Roger's face as he spoke these words. From it, Mello learned something of the nature of the current detective. Wammy's House was majestic and powerful. Therefore, this L person must be majestic and powerful as well.

Mello glanced at Roger and saw that he seemed to be studying the hardwood flooring intently. He seemed to sense Mello's regard, looking up quickly.

Roger regarded Mello closely for a few moments, and then, as if coming to a decision, he said, "L has high hopes for someone already. A boy one year younger than yourself. Near."

Near? What sort of name was that? Who called their child after an adverb?

Roger kept his eyes trained on Mello, as if gaging his reaction. "Near has been here almost since infancy. I warn you now, he is not to be underestimated. It is Near that you will have to surpass in order to gain L's favor."

Mello thought this too was useless information. Whoever was on top now would not be on top tomorrow. Their name and history would mean nothing to him then.

Roger seemed to be waiting for a response, though, so Mello said, "Ok."

"Ok. Now, would you rather unpack your belongings and then eat, or the reverse?" asked Roger. He stood up and put his hands behind his back, still observing Mello closely.

"Hmm..." Mello made a show of thinking through both options. Then he said, very decisively, "Eat first." He knew that adults respected that in children: thought, and then action.

Nevermind that thought choked action more often than breeding it.

Mello was led across the hall and down two flights of stairs, finally coming to a dining room with white linoleum flooring. A long wooden table stood in the middle of the room, ten place settings along its sides and two at each end.

"This is where you will eat meals each day." Roger said. "Usually others will be here to eat with you, but as they are in classes at the moment, you will have to start without them. Take a seat, I'll be right back with Trudy."

Trudy, it turned out, was a kind-faced, plump woman who seemed to always smile. She looked at Mello like he was a cherub and asked if there was anything special he would like on his first day at Wammy's. Mello, who had never in his life been asked what he would like to eat, had no idea what to say. Trudy apparently took this as an invitation to empty the kitchen and ended up bringing out a little bit of everything. Mello soon found himself surrounded by plates of chicken, mashed potatoes and gravy, peas, carrots, and at least three different kinds of soups. Mello tried everything but the carrots. He didn't care how healthy they were supposed to be, it would be a cold day in hell before he voluntarily ate a root vegetable.

In the middle of his second bowl of beef stew, Mello made his first friend.

A red-headed boy had walked into the room. His clothes looked like they had been arranged for maximum discoordination: black and white striped shirt, navy cargo pants, and combat boots. Orange...goggles?...were strapped around his head, obscuring the color of his eyes.

The kid looked like he had his pockets loaded with heavy, box-shaped items. Was he hiding them? Had he stolen them from other children? Was he a kleptomaniac? Mello wanted to know.

So, when the kid took a seat directly across from him, Mello immediately asked: "What's your deal?"

The boy jerked his head up from his plate to see Mello, looking like he had been aburptly brought back from some amazing daydream. "Um...what?" he said.

_Quick_, thought Mello sarcastically. _And eloquent too_. "What's your deal? You've got a billion things in your pockets and you look like you're new to the planet."

The boy's expression suddenly changed. Instead of looking lost, he now looked like he'd come across some rare and amusing specimen. His lips drew into a smile and his eyes traveled from the top of Mello's head to the place where his chest met the table edge. "Ah," he said. "You must be that kid Roger found, the one from Austria. The one who's supposed to be something special. Mello."

This made Mello uneasy and he forgot all about the mystery of the pockets. He'd assumed that he was on equal footing with this boy. But apparently the kid knew more about him than he knew about the kid.

"Yeah. That's me." Mello shot back, trying to reproduce the boy's look of blatant perusal. "You got a name?"

"You can call me Matt." The boy picked up his fork and speared a square of beef. "I'm kinda new here too. Moved in last spring."

Mello nodded. He was rapidly forming the impression that Matt was a person who hadn't a care in the world. He talked of being sent to an orphanage as though it were nothing bigger than changing shoes. "How did you know who I was?"

Matt shrugged. "You looked curious when I walked in. Posture's a little defensive too. That told me you were new. And your accent is noticeable, even though you're trying to hide it. Add to that the crazy amount of food you have in front of you and it's obvious Trudy's been nuturing a foreigner." With a cheeky smile, he added, "And then there's also the fact that there's only about 20 kids here and I've never seen you before."

Mello sneered. It was a front though; Matt seemed cool enough. "So why aren't you still in class? Roger told me the others wouldn't be here for a while."

"Oh, I snuck out." Matt answered, shrugging again. "Faulkner blows."

Mello could respect academic independence. He decided that he liked this kid.

And then Matt asked, "Hey, are you gonna eat those carrots?" and that sealed the deal.

* * *

The next day, Mello woke up early, in preparation for his first classes. He dressed quickly, eager to find out if all the things Roger told him about Wammy's were true.

Mello had to actively convince himself that school would be interesting here. His friend Matt was refreshingly intelligent, but Mello found it difficult to believe that everyone in Wammy's could be like that. In Mello's experience, most people just weren't like him. They took a long time to come the conclusions that he did, if they came to them at all. Ever since he could remember, Mello always felt set apart from his peers for the things he could conceptualize, the ideas he alone could articulate. He wanted to believe that living at Wammy's House could be different, but he was also afraid of getting his hopes up.

That didn't mean that Mello ever entertained the possibility of someone else actually being smarter than him. The idea truly had never occurred to him until Roger had brought it up the day before. When Mello thought about it, he realized that he wanted to be with people that could keep up with him, but he did not want people that could actually lead.

Mello found the classroom for his first subject, Advanced Statistics, easily enough. He chose a seat in neither the front nor the back but in the middle. He wanted to seem willing to learn, but unwilling to suck up to the instructor. The classroom was large for the amount of students it contained. Only four others were present, all evenly spaced through the room.

Mello's teacher arrived at precisely 9 o'clock. He looked utterly nondescript, middle aged, short, dark hair, plain white button down shirt and slacks. Without so much as a "good morning," he took a piece of chalk and drew a bell curve on the blackboard.

When he was finished, he turned back to the class and said, "In our last class, we discussed regression analysis. Can anyone give a brief review of the topic?"

Mello instantly raised his hand. He did so for two reasons: one, because he learned regression analysis by studying it in a public library when he was six and two, because letting the teacher know that he understood the topic even as a new student would eliminate the possibility that he talk down to Mello or underestimate him.

The instructor pointed to him. "Yes? Mello, was it?" he asked.

Mello nodded. "Regression analysis is a way of modeling or predicting two variables. You can use it to see how one variable changes with respect to another."

"No."

Mello almost fell out of his chair. Why that...! What did this guy mean? No? Yes! Of course, yes!

"Would anyone like to explain what was incorrect in Mello's answer?" the instructor asked, peering out at the students.

No one raised a hand. Mello was nearly satisfied, assuming he was right after all and that the teacher was mistaken somehow. That was until he heard one voice echo clearly from a desk near the door.

"Mello's answer is not accurate because he explained what regression analysis is, as well as what you might do with it, but he made no mention of how one would begin to use it."

The voice was clear as bell and completely androgynous. Mello searched out the source of the sound, knowing that it was coming from a desk ahead of him and slightly to the left. When he looked in that direction, though, all he could see of the speaker was a cloud of thick, white hair.

As if the beginning wasn't enough, the voice went on. "It was as if Mello explained that a shovel is a spade at the end of a wooden rod, and that one could dig a hole with it, and left out that you should put the sharp end in the dirt and scoop in order to do so."

Mello couldn't believe it. This had never happened. No one had ever told him that he was wrong. Childish, he had heard. Impractical, too. But no one ever questioned the accuracy of his statements or the logical progression of his thought.

He understood the concept, of course he did. He didn't explain the process of regression analysis itself. Fine. But it seemed like the teacher and this know-it-all student were trying to find holes in his answer. Nothing he said was untrue. If it was incomplete, so what? Why harp on it?

"Correct," answered the instructor. "Now, to move ahead. Today we will consider analysis of variance..."

Mello could barely pay attention to the lecture, so strong was his rage. How dare they? He was brought here precisely because he was intelligent. How dare they imply otherwise?

Was this just how things were done at Wammy's? Break a child's confidence from the first, so that he would work all the harder to regain it?

Well, if that was the strategy, it was progressing swimmingly. Mello immediately made plans to review regression analysis in its entirety that very night. When that was done, he would read the Advanced Statistics textbook from cover to cover, no matter how long it took. This would not happen again.

As it turned out, that did happen again. The very next Advanced Statistics class, in fact.

Mello had resolved to answer another question the next time he came to the lesson. He was not one to let a challenge pass him by, for that was what it was. The teacher and the white-haired boy were challenging him, and very blatantly at that, because Mello was new and because they were curious. What did he know? How fast could he respond? Mello understood this, and so he would to meet their advances head on. He'd long ago decided that adversity was best confronted with swift, decisive action.

But when he answered the second question, one concerning probability, his response was again met with a single, spartan "No."

This time, Mello really couldn't contain himself. He jumped to his feet and cried, "How can you say that? Probability is the likelihood that an event will occur. It does sometimes concern discrete, random phenomena and in those cases, it is defined by the number of favorable events over the total events possible."

Mello knew that was correct, in every sense of the word. He knew because he actually stayed awake past four that very morning reading about it.

This time, though, the instructor didn't even have to wait for a student to explain exactly how Mello's answer was incomplete. The same one who'd done so the day before volunteered.

Mello had decided last night that the student was male, though he had no real evidence for drawing such a conclusion. If he were forced to say why he thought this, Mello supposed he would just call it a feeling. There seemed to be no compassionate bone in the student's body, for when he spoke, his voice was devoid of any inflection. There was no concern for Mello's feelings when the student had pronounced him incorrect yesterday. Mello assumed that a girl would probably recognize the difficult position he was placed in as a new student, and would at least attempt to coat her answer with sympathy for his plight.

It was the same this time around: no commiseration, no mercy. And the boy's voice again carried that disturbing pitch, somewhere between a boy's and a girl's. He was seated in the same desk, in the same front corner of the room, and his hair was the same unnatural white.

And as Mello listened to the boy's explanation, hating it because he could understand instantly the rightness of the words, he began to feel an intense indignation. This boy was obviously not new to Wammy's. He knew how things worked here; he was supremely confident and never seemed to hesitate before making his errorless pronouncements. Why should someone with a clear advantage over him be so quick to exploit it? What was Mello to this boy, and why did he seem so intent to prove his superiority?

To answer these questions, Mello formed a plan. He made sure to get out of the classroom before any of the others, intending to wait for the white-haired boy and interrogate him. Mello would have this out, he couldn't stand to sit back and ignore the clear threat the student posed. Just the thought of doing so made him uneasy.

So as he leaned against the wall opposite the classroom door, crossing his arms and scowling, he paid close attention to each face that crossed the threshold. The one he was waiting for was the fourth, and last, to pass through.

Mello found the boy's face (he was right, it was a boy) almost unnerving when he first saw it. The mouth was small, almost too small, the nose nondescript, the skin fair and completely bloodless. But these things in themselves were not what bothered Mello.

What bothered him were the boy's eyes, jet black and somehow eerily dull. They were not the eyes of a child, Mello could tell. These eyes looked too mature, too knowing and jaded, for a child that looked to be younger than Mello himself was. It was very strange, and Mello couldn't explain to himself why it seemed to matter so much.

But he pushed the thought out of his mind in time to get the boy's attention before he walked away. "What are you playing at?" he asked, wasting no time on greetings (such as they would have been). Mello made sure to establish eye contact, letting the boy know for certain that he was addressing him.

The boy's expression didn't change with Mello's abrupt question, or with the threatening tone of his voice. His eyes did seem more intent, though, when he answered with a question of his own. "I beg your pardon?"

"You heard me," said Mello. "What are you playing at? Showing me up in there? Do you think you have to prove how intelligent you are to me? Do you think I care about what you know about probability distributions and statistical theorems?"

The boy's expression did change then, subtly. His lips turned up slightly at the corners and his eyes brightened. He was...amused?

"You flatter yourself." the boy said, and Mello saw new levels of rage. "I said what I said because it was correct. Do not think that what comes from my mouth is any response to you yourself or that it stems from any desire to change your opinion of me."

The boy raised one hand, curling a lock of his white hair around his finger. "I care not what you think of me. Why should I?"

Mello's voice was low when he could find it in himself to respond coherently. "You should care," he said, "because I'm the one that Roger found. He thinks I can compete to succeed the detective L. And I will. I will compete and I will win."

The boy's hand stilled, though he left it at his temple. He seemed to consider Mello for a time, and then said, "You can try."

Then the boy turned away and made as if to continue down the corridor. Before he could take two steps, however, Mello snatched his elbow and pulled him back. The boy looked down at the hand on his arm as though it were mildly surprising, but he made no move to tear himself away.

"Who are you?" Mello demanded.

The boy looked up from his examination of Mello's hand. For the first time, he seemed genuinely interested in the proceedings, meeting Mello's eyes and searching them.

"I am Near," he said.

* * *

The next few weeks passed in a blur. Mello felt as though he had been thrown into an ocean without a life raft, expected to sink or swim entirely through his own power. His classes were not what he had been expecting. Along with Advanced Statistics, he was taking basic psychology, European revolutionary history, self defense, and Spanish. He'd thought that his previous knowledge would suffice in most things, but he came to find that all his classes were new and all were challenging. Mello was determined to continue with each one, though, and he studied for hours every night to improve.

The boy, Near, was in Mello's psychology class with him as well, and he was rapidly becoming the bane of his existence. Near had a habit of seizing upon any inaccuracy, and not just Mello's and the other students', but the teachers' as well. And when he wasn't patiently and definitively explaining why everyone around him was intellectually substandard, he simply stared dazedly at his desk, as though determined to demonstrate that his imagination was vastly more entertaining than anything he was listening to at the moment.

Mello was irritated and unnerved by Near's very presence. It was as though the boy's white hair and black eyes flipped a switch within him, one he didn't even know he possessed, and his skin crawled with aggravation. Instead of studying in order to succeed in his classes, Mello found himself more motivated by the thought of wiping the floor with Near when test time rolled around.

So the day after he'd taken his first exams, Mello raced into the dining hall first thing in the morning to check the standings that Roger had told him would be posted there. When he got there, he was dismayed by what he saw.

The rankings were listed by subject, by the age of the student, by how long they'd been at Wammy's, and by overall performance. Mello quickly glanced over the headings of the first three, but it was the final one that he really cared about.

The list was typed in a bold, heavy font and displayed the name of every child at Wammy's House. There were 26 names in total. Next to each name was a number, what Mello knew to be the place each student had earned by their performance in the class exams overall.

He wasn't last. Not even close, actually. He'd placed quite high: second.

But to Mello, that was just as bad.

And worse, the name above his was the one that he'd feared: Near.

Mello stared and stared at the list. Trying to reconcile his intelligence, his effort, his fierce desire to be the best with the results such attributes had supplied. How could this be? He'd never supposed that he would fail, not with everything he had naturally and not with the things he'd gained through sheer force of will. If he'd exhausted both...and this was what it got him...

Was all his work for naught, then? Should he just give up now, accept that there were people in the world who were smarter than him, that Near was one of those people, and that this was just the way things were?

Mello stood staring at the list for a long time. He stared and stared, until he couldn't even read the words anymore. Nothing he saw made sense, and the letters became fuzzy blocks of blackness.

Then Mello heard a small cough to his left. He hadn't even noticed anyone was in the room. He'd woken at the crack of dawn to come down here and he'd assumed everyone else would be sleeping. Mello turned to look at the stranger, finding that he had to crane his neck to look them in the face.

The stranger was a boy, older, late teens Mello would guess. He had black hair, cut strangely so that it looked uneven and wild on his head. He was slouching plainly, one hand stuffed deep into a pocket of his baggy blue jeans. The other was lifted to his mouth, one finger sliding gently from one corner of his lips to the other. His skin was ghostly pale, almost glowing in the dim light of the dining room.

The boy seemed to feel Mello's eyes on him, and he turned to look down at him.

Mello was struck by how similar the boy's eyes were to Near's. They were exactly the same color: intensely black, with no visible pupil, and slightly dull the way Near's were. But these eyes were not in the least bit dispassionate. They seemed to see straight through Mello, and into his heart, and seemed to understand the things they found there.

Mello felt like all the breath had left his lungs. He could feel his heart pounding a primal rhythm in his chest and he was rooted to the spot, unable to speak or even take another breath. This person knew him.

The boy looked at Mello appraisingly, and Mello thought that it was unnecessary, because the understanding was palpable even to him. Then the boy said, "I wouldn't look too closely at those. Many become trapped in the desire for first when the medals are handed out by someone who doesn't even attend the race."

Then the boy nodded once in parting and turned to go. Mello still couldn't bring himself to speak, but he managed to watch as the boy's bare feet shuffled across the linoleum and carry him out of the room.

When he could no longer hear the soft footsteps down the hall, Mello realized that he could not leave things as they were. He could not resign himself to failure. Near might have beaten him in test scores this time, and he might beat him in test scores all the time, but now Mello saw that the list on the wall in front of him was not the end. The competition at Wammy's was more than rankings and more than numbers on a catalog.

The stranger had given him hope.

And Mello knew, without a doubt, who it was.

* * *

_I know I've already said, but I'm so excited for this one._

_Things may seem a bit simplistic here, but I've been trying to write from an 8-year-old's perspective. Admittedly an 8-year-old genius, but an 8-year-old nonetheless. This is not to say that children are simplistic, or think in simplistic ways, but Mello on the whole strikes me as a person who feels and thinks very purely. I've tried to capture that single-mindedness in him._

_I hope this wasn't too slow for anyone's taste. It was really fast writing, by my own standards, but reading something can be very different than the writing of it. I'd love to hear your thoughts about this first chapter, and I promise romance/yaoi will commence eventually. But groundwork must be laid..._

_Chapter Two is currently in progress. I'm thinking it should be up in about a week, two at the most. Thanks so much for reading._

_- Magic_


	2. Old Habits

_Author's Note: _

_Yay! Near time! I know very few people like him compared to Mello, or even Matt. I have to admit, I'm one of the ones who prefers Mello. That said, I feel much better about writing Near than writing Mello. I can definitely relate to Near's way of thinking, whereas Mello's feels really alien to me. _

_I think that's why I feel much happier about the way this chapter turned out than I did about the last one. I felt way more comfortable proof-reading it, anyway. :)_

_Thanks so much to all those who reviewed, each and every comment was appreciated and very motivating. *hugs*_

_I don't think I mentioned earlier, but there will be spoilers for Mello and Near's real names. And possibly L's as well. Just a warning. Although, are they really secrets anymore? _

_Also, romance is still slow in coming. But! There are hints of it in this chapter, though you might have to squint to find them. :) _

_Enjoy! _

_***_

Chapter Two - Old Habits

_"To represent vice and misery as the necessary accompaniments of genius, is as mischievous as it is false, and the feeling is as unclassical as the language in which it is usually expressed." - Joanna Baillie_

This was not right. Too many times had Near seen this happen, and it ended now.

He needed glue for the operation to be completely effective...but where had he left the bottle? It certainly wasn't anywhere in the immediate vicinity. Then he remembered: under the bed.

It was an easy maneuver for him to shift down to all fours - he was already kneeling anyway. Crawling over to the twin bed in the corner, Near swept his hand clumsily underneath until his fingers touched a smooth rectangle with rounded edges. But was it the glue, or another discarded building block? Ah, yes, it was the glue - there was the nozzle.

Now it could be settled properly. Squeezing out a judicious amount of the stuff, Near squished a tiny blue cap down onto black curls. Never again would he have to see that police man without his correct vestments. The doll was almost as depressing-looking without his hat as he was without a badge.

The other children at Wammy's often wondered about Near's habit of playing with toys. They only had to check the latest standings to know that he was extremely intelligent. They had only to pay attention in classes to see that he was quite controlled and mature for his age. Why then did he insist on spending his free time surrounded by dolls and blocks and miniature fire trucks?

Near himself didn't quite understand it. He liked building model airplanes and acting out dramas with his puppets without really knowing why. He did know that he liked it more than reading or playing video games or, God forbid, _socializing_. He was happy among his toys, so that was enough for him.

Some people assumed that he did these things because he was _un_happy, though. They thought that he removed himself from his peers because he felt isolated from them. They thought that Near's incredible intellect made him feel as though no one else could understand him. He _must _be miserable. He _must _wish there was someone he could really talk to. That's why he shut himself away and talked to his dolls instead.

It was the opposite that was true, though. He was isolated because he removed himself. Near knew there were a great many things that connected him to his fellow orphans. He could bond with them over their shared living space, the classes they had together, their similar ages, and especially their current lack of parents. The list went on and on. He just didn't see the point of doing so when he was perfectly content with his own company. Why put on a happy face and talk about useless things when he didn't have to? What would he gain by spending time with others?

Well, that wasn't strictly accurate. He did gain something by spending time with others...just _one _other.

Periodically, Near would spend time with L, the one he would eventually succeed. Every month or so, Roger would come to collect him from whatever corner he'd hidden himself in and he would be taken to L's office. There, L would chat with him for a couple of hours, asking about his classes, his thoughts, his strengths and weaknesses. Near knew that L wanted to get as much information about him as he could. It was what he himself would do were he in L's position, after all. Investigate your potential successors, know everything you could about them. That was the only way that the best decision could be made.

From their time spent together, L gained valuable insights into Near's character and Near gained the promise of L's position. Near could see clear advantages to their interactions, and so he never resented them or made any attempt to avoid them, as he would have done with anyone else.

Over the years he'd spent as number one, Near had come to know a few things about L. He knew them, but he did not _understand _them. For example, Near knew that L typically dropped five sugar cubes into one cup of tea. He knew this, but for the life of him he could not understand why. He didn't buy the answer that L had given him when he'd asked: that sugar was brain food. Near happened to know (and know that L knew) that brain food was not sucrose but B-vitamins, choline, and omega-3s. So that explanation was ruled out. Did L just have an incorrigible sweet tooth? If that were true, why did he feel the need to lie about it? But then, eating the sugar in front of Near gave the lie away obviously, didn't it?

With the sugar cubes (and with numerous other aspects of L), Near had eventually come to just accept it and stopped trying to understand. The knowledge didn't seem particularly useful anyway.

Aside from his strange quirks, Near essentially liked L. He was calm, conversational without being overbearing, and he seemed to like Near as well. (Near knew that this last contributed substantially to his opinion of L. People often liked those who liked them, after all, and Near wasn't an exception.) Their conversations were not boring, either. On the contrary, Near often learned things from talking to L.

For instance, last year, when Near was 6, L taught him the meaning of wisdom.

Near had been sitting on the floor of L's office, building a castle out of multi-colored blocks. They had slipped into a comfortable silence, as sometimes happened during their meetings. L was crouched behind his laptop, typing placidly and periodically popping petits fours into his mouth.

Near's castle was progressing nicely. The draw-bridge and archway were already completed, both constructed with brown and white blocks. Near had been especially proud of the archway, as he'd managed to construct a hipped roof on the top of it. The guard walls, with their stair step edges, were done as well. The castle was surrounded by a moat of parsley garnishes from L's plate. All that was left were the four towers at the corners.

It so happened that Near made a mistake during the construction of the towers. He'd discovered before that if one built a tower on top of an existing wall, the tower was much less likely to topple over and ruin the castle. So Near continued on with that philosophy and constructed his first tower on the leftmost wall of his castle.

He came to find, though, that the tower often teetered and slipped as he made adjustments for the construction of the next one. Eventually, the tower gave up the ghost and fell.

The sound of it brought L's attention away from his computer. His large eyes peeked out over the top edge of the screen to glance at Near's collapsed project.

"What went wrong?" he asked in his rumbling, thoughtful baritone.

It was difficult for Near to pull his gaze from the fallen tower, but he managed. Ignoring L in favor of mourning his blocks and the effect gravity had on them didn't seem like the best career move. "My belief in the stabilizing effect of a wall as a foundation for towers was evidently unwise."

L's response to this was a quiet, "Hmm..." He uncurled himself from his habitual squat and approached the block castle. He planted himself a few inches from the structure and observed impassively. Near realized that this was the closest L had ever been to him since they'd first met two years before.

"When you first discovered the strategy of the foundation for towers, were you building towers with square bases or circular ones?" L asked suddenly.

Near instantly recalled. "Square."

"Ah..." L murmured. "I believe that is the answer. I presume you were working with squared walls as well." He looked over to Near for confirmation.

"Yes," Near replied.

L nodded. "In that case, a wall probably would provide a stable foundation for your tower. Since their bases were similar shapes, the tower's weight would be distributed evenly across the area of the wall and it would be more structurally sound. In this case, though, you built towers with round bases. Their edges don't correspond to the edges of your castle's walls."

While Near was still processing this, L continued. "I think that the solution would be to build the towers directly on the floor. You can stabilize them by placing walls at either side."

Deciding the only way to test the theory was to try it out, Near rebuilt his tower, this time right on the carpeted floor. When he moved on to construct the second one, it didn't fall. L was right.

"Thank you," Near said, continuing on to tower number three.

"You are welcome." L said. He didn't move from his spot next to the castle, though. He did, however, turn to stare at Near instead of the blocks. "Incidentally, your belief in foundations for towers was not unwise, as you said."

Near could think of no way to respond to this except to stare blankly at L.

"Foundations _are _good for towers." L continued. "Your knowledge wasn't unwise. It was correct."

"But, for this time at least," Near argued, "it _was _unwise. It didn't work in this situation."

L lowered his chin and looked at Near more intently. Near got the feeling that he was being chastised without words.

"What was unwise was your decision to apply knowledge that was relevant in one situation to a situation in which it was not." L said. "Your mistake was not in your knowledge but in its application. Your information was sound. What you lacked was its wise employment."

Near always looked back on that conversation with fondness. L had taught him a valuable lesson. Wisdom and knowledge, and even wisdom and intelligence, were not the same thing. Knowledge was merely information, facts about the world. Intelligence, Near thought, was how fast one could accumulate that knowledge. Wisdom, on the other hand, was the advantageous _application _of knowledge, and no matter how intelligent a person was, they were not guaranteed to have it.

Suddenly, Near heard footsteps. He looked up to find Rodger in the doorway of his room. He thought he knew what Roger must be there for, and sure enough -

"Hello, Near. L would like to see you in his office."

Near nodded in response. He gathered all the toys he could hold and followed Roger out the door.

On the way down the hall and up a familiar flight of stairs, Near pondered the conversation he would have with L this time. Likely L wanted to discuss the latest test results, maybe go over how his classes were progressing, hear what he thought of his teachers. Essentially, talk about the things they usually talked about.

But as Near came to discover, L wanted to talk about nothing of the kind.

***

L's office looked like it always did: dark blue carpet, heavy drapes, lit only by the light of a few weak lamps. With its dark wood paneling on the walls and shining gold doorhandles and cabinet fixtures, the place reeked of wealth and mystique. Near found L in his usual place, crouched on a chair behind a large oak desk and typing on his laptop.

Roger announced Near's presence with a curt, "Near is here, as requested."

L's whole being seemed to shift as he turned his eyes to see them. "Thank you, Roger. Mr. Wammy asked me to inform you that he would like a word downstairs when you have the time."

Roger nodded and turned to leave. L waited until the door had closed behind him before saying, "Hello, Near. You can put your toys down where you like."

"Hello, L." Near replied. He shuffled into the middle of the office and dropped his armful of playthings on the floor.

He waited for L to ask his customary, "How have you been lately, Near?" That was usually the opening question of their meetings.

But L didn't seem to want to know about the state of his being at the moment. He said nothing.

It was not as though he seemed disinterested in Near; quite the contrary, L was observing him very keenly. From where he stood in the middle of the room, Near felt as though he were an object on display.

He wasn't comfortable with this quiet perusal. If he and L were discussing things, everything would be easy. This silence, though...it was unnerving. He raised a hand to finger a lock of his hair.

Eventually, Near tired of waiting for L to make the first move. He said, "L. How are you?"

But L still didn't seem keen on conversation. The only response he gave was a mumbled, "Fine."

His eyes never left Near, but Near got the feeling that L wasn't even seeing him. L always did look a bit unfocused, granted, but now there a pronounced preoccupied quality to his stare.

Ah, well. Whatever had L distracted either didn't concern Near or did, in which case L would tell him about it soon enough.

Near settled himself down on the floor, then, intending to resume the miniature police chase that had been interrupted when Roger had collected him from his room. These Fisher-Price models couldn't hold a candle to the Mattel versions...

Just as he was orchestrating an infiltration of the murderer's headquarters, L suddenly spoke.

"Near," he asked, "what can you tell me about Mihael Keehl?"

Was the world bent on interrupting Near's playtime today? He was never going to finish this mission. Wait, did L just...?

Instead of voicing his surprise, Near responded with a question of his own. "I assume you're referring to Mello?"

L nodded. Near noticed that he wasn't sipping tea or nibbling a cookie or otherwise consuming sugar. There was a slice of strawberry cheesecake next to his laptop, but it looked untouched.

Near considered what to say. Should he tell L that Mello was new? Should he talk about his performance in the classes that they shared? L likely already knew those things...

L probably didn't know that Mello had incited a verbal altercation with Near soon after entering Wammy's. He probably didn't know that Mello was highly entertaining when he was angry.

"Mello is...sensitive." Near finally said.

L nodded again. "Yes, I noticed."

At that, Near began to wonder how closely L monitored them. Did he watch the children between classes? At meals? Did he perhaps have surveillance cameras placed strategically about the mansion?

That was not a particularly comforting thought.

But Near's question was answered for him when L continued speaking.

"I met Mello recently. He was checking the latest rankings and I happened to be there."

Near could just picture that scene. There L would be, minding his own business, and Mello would march straight up to him and demand his name, country of origin, lifetime achievements, and underlying motivations. The thought brought a tiny smirk to his face.

"Did he leave you wishing for a place of solitude and silence for the next six months?" Near asked.

L looked surprised at the question. "No," he said.

L's eyes turned to the lacquered finish of his desk. He again seemed to look without seeing, as if his thoughts were far from the present situation.

"It is strange for someone with such mental prowess to be so emotionally charged." L murmured, almost as though he were talking to himself. "We genii tend to live inside our own heads, caught in equations and rationality and logic. Mello is very different. I said only a few words to him but his whole attitude changed upon hearing them. To be so volatile...and demonstrative about it..."

This was strange. L never discussed other children during their meetings. Yet here he was, doing a character study on a boy who'd been living at Wammy's for only a few weeks.

Near was wholly surprised to hear what came out of L's mouth next.

"He is something, isn't he?"

There was no smile on L's face, no chuckle in his voice. He sounded just as monotone and detached as ever, but Near couldn't shake the feeling that this statement was more meaningful than any of the others. From anyone else, these small comments would indicate nothing more than a passing notice of someone; from L, they were an indication of hyper-awareness. L was more invested in Mello than he seemed, maybe more invested than he realized.

L had somehow become _interested _in this boy.

Near didn't know what to make of this information. L couldn't be interested in Mello as a successor...could he? Mello was new, after all. His scores weren't higher than Near's, and despite his obvious effort, Near doubted that they ever would be. But if it wasn't successorship that L had singled Mello out for, what was it? Mello hadn't done anything particularly distinctive during his time here. Well, unless being distinctively emotional counted.

But the fact remained, Mello had caught L's attention. For whatever reason.

As strange as it was, Near was no longer the only child at Wammy's that L cared about.

***

Near's classes the next day were as predictable as his conversation with L was not. Japanese, his language course this year, consisted of Near trying (and succeeding) to translate _The Phoenix and the Turtle_. Advanced Logic and American Literature were the classes he liked best, which only meant they were the ones Near didn't feel annoyed in. He'd completed a few proofs in Logic and discussed a novel in American Literature, like always. And, as usual, Psychology and Advanced Statistics were highlighted by Mello shamelessly seizing every opportunity to make himself look knowledgeable.

Near discovered that he didn't feel the same way about Mello that he did about anyone else when they tried to prove their worth in classes. When anybody else worked so transparently to prove themselves, Near pitied them. It was the height of arrogance, he knew, to feel this way, but it was the truth. Poor kids, putting in so much time and effort for such a minimal return. Because even after hours of studying, and weeks of jumping on every chance to answer questions, no one performed better than Near. Eventually they gave up, and Near was left to lament their wasted labor.

But with Mello, all Near could feel was annoyance. He supposed that this was because he could sense that Mello was never going to give up. Near could see the drive in him (you'd have to be blind not to) and he could see that Mello's desire for first was not a passing fancy. Mello would fight all day, everyday for the chance of L's successorship. That was the kind of person he was, and Near was bothered by it.

It also bothered Near that Mello seemed to already have his chance, without even knowing it. L had noticed him already, not for any real intellectual brilliance, but simply for his nature. L's regard for Mello did not bother Near because Near was afraid of competition; he was certain of his superior reasoning ability and he was certain that that ability would last him throughout his life. In a contest of intellect, Near would surely win. L's regard for Mello bothered Near because, in a contest of _natures_, Near would surely lose.

Near could see it even now. There was Mello, playing football on the recess field and surrounded by other children. Not friends, Near knew. Mello was pointing and shouting at them like a dictator, not a comrade. But the others obviously liked him, doing what he told them and smiling as they did.

And here was Near, sitting on the grass, surrounded by...tarot cards.

Well, it didn't _have _to be this way. There was Linda, over there...perhaps Near could...

Near gathered his tarot cards together into a neat stack and then stood up. He went over to Linda's place on the bleachers, where she sat watching the football game.

Linda was a nice person, Near knew. She was generally cheerful and often went out of her way to help others. She could be routinely found tutoring the younger children or showing around new students during the rare occasions that they came to Wammy's. Having a conversation with Linda would be fine.

But when Near got to the bleachers, he realized he had no idea what to say to the girl.

She noticed his presence, of course, eventually. And being the kind of person that she was, she gave him a smile and said, "Hi, Near."

"Hello," Near replied.

They stared at each other for a few painful seconds. Near twirled his hair and Linda shifted awkwardly at her seat.

"Do you want to watch the game with me?" Linda finally asked.

Near nodded and took a seat beside her, drawing one leg up and wrapping his arms around it. They sat without speaking or making eye contact for a few minutes.

Once again, the two of them couldn't seem to find anything to say to each other. Near thought it was probably his responsibility to sustain the conversation; he had approached Linda, after all, but for the life of him he didn't know what to say. He could comment on the game, perhaps, but what did Near know of football? Or any other sport? Should he talk about the weather? That was the stereotypical thing to do, surely, but Near couldn't bring himself to say something so inane.

Near glanced over at Linda. She had been facing forward, watching one of the kids race across the field, but when Near turned, so did she. Their eyes met and Near realized that the closest thing they would have to a meaningful conversation was the mutual understanding of the agony of the situation that passed between them in the gaze.

It was a lost cause, then. Near unfolded himself from his position on the seat and stood. "Goodbye, Linda." he said.

"See you later, Near."

Near left the bleachers and went back to his place on the grass. It was fine. Near didn't need to be like Mello. He was content to be alone, he thought, spilling the cards onto the ground. He was the smartest child at Wammy's. He didn't need to be the most popular one, too.

It was fine.

***

_I hope that was as much fun to read as it was to write. Putting Near into social situations makes me smile. I love torturing him. :) _

_I'm thinking that the chapters will remain about this length or so. I like to think that each one has some kind of story within itself as well as contributing to The Love Below as a whole. Usually it takes about 5,000 words for me to feel like I've accomplished that. _

_I'd love to hear what you liked or disliked about this chapter, the next should be up in a week or two. Thanks for reading!_

_- Magic_


	3. Starting Line

_Author's Note: _

_Wow, I can't believe I actually finished this in time for a Friday update. I'm pretty much the antithesis of a night person but I somehow managed to stay up until 5am writing last night. WOOT! _

_I think I was feeling extra-motivated by the fact that this is the last "exposistion" chapter. From now on, things are gonna start to come together and those messy feeling things will start playing a large role in the plot. *rubs hands together and chuckles evilly* _

_All the kind reviews really helped as well. I'm so pleased that there are people keeping up with this fic, I hope to reward you with a great story by the end. :) _

_Anyway, here is The Love Below: Starting Line. Enjoy!_

***

Chapter 3 -Starting Line

_"If you want to know the end, look at the beginning." - African Proverb_

"_He who chooses the beginning of the road chooses the place it leads to. It is the means that determines the end.__" - Harry Emerson Fosdick_

"Hey Mello, want to go down to the library with me? I need that book for Foster's class tomorrow."

Mello looked up from his own textbook to see Matt standing just outside his bedroom, leaning against the door frame. He looked as stressed as Mello had ever seen him, which was to say, barely so at all. Matt's posture was very casual; all that belied his urgency was a small crease between his eyebrows and the measured fidgeting of his hands inside his trouser pockets.

Mello didn't understand how Matt could be so calm all the time. He knew for a fact that there was an exam in Mr. Foster's English class in less than a week. He wasn't even _in _English II and he knew about it. And Matt was only now getting his hands on the book? Matt was like that, though. He always seemed to be slightly unconcerned with schoolwork, like he knew that it needed to be done, just not necessarily done well. A test would be scheduled and he yawn, then would wait until the last possible second to begin studying for it.

Mello supposed it was for the best, though. He didn't think he and Matt would get along if Matt was as obsessive as he himself was.

"Sure," he said, closing his books and pushing them to a corner of his desk. Mello stood up and ran a hand through his hair before walking out of his room and down the hall with Matt at his side.

Before coming to Wammy's, Mello had known that he had a tendency to throw himself into things. He had gone through a few phases in his short life, latching on to the things that interested him with whole-hearted fervor. His faith was a good example. He still recited the rosary daily, after all, and it had been ages since he was first taught. He been devoted since he was old enough to understand what the word meant, and he couldn't imagine being any other way today.

Living here, though, revealed to Mello what it was like to really _want _something. With God, there wasn't anything he had to decide. Mello believed, and he had never seriously doubted. His crusade to be Number One was different. Mello really _chose _this and had to _work _for it. He had experienced a moment of true doubt that day in the dining room the first time he saw the rankings. Afterwards, he'd had to make the choice to continue on and actively move past it.

It brought out a whole new side of himself. Mello had been working like a boy possessed these past few months. He woke early for classes, paid attention and participated in them throughout the day, breaking only for short meals, and then he would stay up long into the night completing homework and studying for the next day's classes. Even his ninth birthday, which had passed just last week, barely appeared on Mello's radar; it was probably blocked out by that psychology test held the same day. It was exhausting, but Mello found that even the thought of easing up on himself twisted his insides and made his heart thud painfully. Mello was an all-or-nothing sort of person, and when he set his mind on something, he simply couldn't let it go.

And it was not just his studies that had taken hold of him. Mello found that whenever he faced a particularly difficult math problem or when he was tempted to lay his head down on his open textbook for a nap, the face of the boy he'd met in the dining room swam into his mind. The image of his wide eyes and jet black hair compelled him to keep to his studying and Mello would turn the page and continue.

Mello knew that the boy was the detective that Roger had told him about: L. He didn't know how he knew, all he knew was that he did. It was strange how convinced he was of the idea. There was no reason he should suppose L to even live at Wammy's House, much less wander about empty rooms around the place at the break dawn. But something just seemed so _right _about the thought of a mastermind like L being young, a teenager, and his being disheveled and thoughtful and quiet. The boy who'd spoken words of consolation to Mello had been understanding but also mysterious, just as Mello thought a detective would be.

Mello hadn't seen L outside of that time in the dining room, not even a glimpse of him in passing, but he often considered their encounter in his head. Mello would review it from various angles mentally, considering the things he could have said instead of standing there mute the way he had. He felt indebted to L in way, like he needed to give him something in return for the hope he had provided, but he had no idea what he had that a person like L could want.

Half-listening to Matt's chatter about what's-her-name in Spanish class, Mello turned a corner and saw the library doors ahead.

The library was one of the places that Mello loved best about Wammy's. It was brightly lit, open, spacious, and was filled with books on every subject he could want. The place was furnished with rich carpets and squashy bean bag chairs, very comfortable and perfect for reading late into the night.

"Where do you think the best stuff on Coleridge would be?" Matt asked when they got inside. "I need a couple of things about - whoa, hey Roger."

Mello looked up to find Roger striding up purposefully toward them. Roger was the quintessential administrator, Mello thought. He was dressed in his usual slacks and dress shirt, both pieces pressed and well-fitted.

"Hello, Matt." Roger replied, though his eyes did not stray to glance at him. Instead, his gaze was fixed upon Mello, a small frown turning down the corners of his lips. He looked preoccupied, almost grim.

Mello didn't think he could be in trouble. He had been in to Roger's office a few times since coming to Wammy's, once for helping Matt palm a flash drive and once for being caught out of his room after curfew. Oh and he couldn't forget the time he dropped a frog into Near's cereal, that was priceless. But he was fairly certain he'd been on his best behavior lately...

"Mello," Roger finally said. He glanced uneasily at Matt. "There is someone who would like to see you."

"Who?" Mello demanded. He still had a chapter of psychology to read before dinner.

"You'll find out soon enough." said Roger cryptically. "Now, if you'll come with me."

Mello sighed and and shrugged at Matt. He might as well get this over with.

Mello followed Roger out of the library and down the main hall. They came to the grand staircase and climbed it the second story, then the third. Mello trailed after Roger as he turned left down a hallway and then right down another. They finally came to a stop at a door a the very end of the hall, hardly noticeable in the shadows.

Roger knocked twice on the door, and a low voice from within called, "Come in."

There was something familiar about that voice...Mello wasn't sure, but...

Roger held the door, allowing Mello to step inside the room first. Passing the threshold, Mello found himself surrounded by four walls richly papered and paneled with dark wood. The carpet under his feet was incredibly plush and small lamps were placed at strategic intervals throughout. The few chairs and tables were crafted from the same dark wood as the wall paneling. Even the windows seemed fit for kings, draped with burgundy and gold.

Mello gaped. The rooms in Wammy's were all nice, of course, but this one took the cake. He felt privileged just to be inside it. Whoever this place belonged to must be a very important person indeed.

"I'm very glad the office meets with your approval."

Mello froze. He couldn't place it before, but now he knew. That voice. Low, slightly husky, the words faintly mumbled. It was...

Mello whirled around in the direction of the sound. Sure enough, there behind a laptop and a desk, looking exactly the same as he had the last time they'd spoken. Hair still wild as ever, skin still unnaturally pale, wearing the same baggy white shirt.

"_L_." Mello breathed.

L's mouth curled into a small smile. He looked pleased with himself.

"I was almost sure you'd already know." L said, reaching for a bowl next to his computer. "Good. That will save introductions."

With only his thumb and forefinger, he plucked a white cube (a cube of sugar?) from the bowl. Mello watched as he examined it cursorily and then pop it into his mouth.

Mello had so much to say, he didn't know where to begin. The words were piling themselves up and forming a traffic jam in his brain. Here he was, facing L. Now was his chance to say thank you, to say _thank you_, to ask why L had been in the dining room that morning, to ask why L had spoken to a kid like him at all. Mello had so many questions. He wanted to know why L was here, if he lived at Wammy's or was just here visiting, if he thought Mello was doing well, if he always held objects in that strange two-fingered way.

What came out, though, was just: "Hi."

L finished chewing and then swallowed. "Hello, Mello." he said. "Would you like to sit down?" L indicated one of the chairs in front of his desk.

Mello managed to bring himself over and fairly fell into it. This was almost too much; he'd nearly resigned himself to never seeing L again, and now here he was, sitting in his office, where he'd been asked to arrive personally.

L pushed his laptop to one side of his desk and studied Mello where he sat. Mello noticed that L had his legs curled up onto his chair in front of him, his hands resting on his knees. It was an odd way to sit, especially for someone who was nearly an adult.

"I'd like to start by commending you, Mello." said L. "You've only been living here for a few months but you seem to be adjusting well. You've been making friends, I take it?"

Mello nodded. Why was it so hard to talk? His tongue, which usually wagged freely from dawn until dusk, seemed suddenly to be stuck to the roof of his mouth.

"Your studies have been progressing nicely, I've noticed, especially when one considers the level of schooling you were resigned to...before. You're doing well."

Mello chin fell slightly and his eyes settled somewhere near his shoes. "Not well enough," he muttered.

"Ah." L said delicately. He lifted one hand to his mouth and nibbled on a thumb. "Yes, you do seem very determined to take first."

Mello nodded, still unable to speak the words he so desired to. Now would be an excellent time. That last sentence would make a nice segway for Mello to express his gratitude. Why couldn't he just _talk_? Why was it so difficult to say two little words? Mello was many things, but shy was not one of them. _Say thank you! _he thought fiercely. _Just say it! _

But the moment passed, and L continued on. "I am curious, I confess." he said, and Mello didn't doubt him. With his wide, piercing eyes, L looked like the most curious man on Earth.

"Why are you so eager to take Near's place?"

The question was disconcerting, since the answer seemed so obvious. L must know why Mello wanted to be Number One, why everyone wanted to be Number One (with the possible exception of Matt). Why should he have to ask?

"Because I want to be a detective." Mello finally said. "The best detective. You."

L made a soft "hmmm" sound. "I believe that's true, but I can't help but suspect that there may be more to your motive than just that."

Mello didn't know if he was expected to agree with or refute that statement, so he settled for saying nothing.

L took another sugar cube from his bowl. Instead of eating it, though, he placed it squarely on his desk.

"I believe that the idea of becoming a detective appeals to you," L went on, "but I'm not sure that you wouldn't be fighting just as relentlessly for first place if I were an accountant, or a mechanic, or some other position less mysterious and idolized."

"Why should you think that?" asked Mello.

Personally, he found the idea of the strange being in front of him doing anything but detective work almost laughable. Imagine someone clutching a calculator or a monkey wrench with two fingers! But Mello knew those were just his nerves talking. He had no idea where this conversation was going and it put him on edge.

"Well," L answered, considering the question. "I don't believe that the idea of the job is motivating so much as the competition for it is."

Mello thought about this. It was true that the competition was very conducive to his studies...but was it really the only reason he continued? Being a detective would be wonderful, Mello thought. Surely he would pursue it without Near holding victory just out of his grasp.

But the thought of Near made his blood boil in a way that thinking of investigating crimes did not. Arrogant, stuck-up, show-off Near. Everything about him, from his perverse white hair to his sardonic grin, made Mello angry. Mello felt like he had to _show_ Near, and if becoming the best was a way to do it, so be it.

"I don't think being a detective would be as exciting without the competition for it," Mello conceded, thinking he would might lose all chance of being the next L for saying the words but finding himself unable to tell L anything but the truth. "But I really do think the two are tied. I want to be your successor because I have to fight for it but I want to fight because I want to be your successor. There's really no separating the two."

L abruptly plunged a hand into his pocket and pulled out a cell phone. He pushed a button, waited a few seconds, and then said, "Mr. Roger, I regret treating you like a retriever, but I would greatly appreciate it if you could you bring Near to my office. There is something I need to discuss with him...yes...Of course. Thank you...goodbye."

L pushed another button and returned the phone to his pocket.

"My apologies for the cell phone, Mello. Near needs to be here, though, in order for things to progress. I do hate to repeat myself." he said.

Mello nodded, but inside he was fuming. He was with L and now, in a few minutes, Near (and his ridiculous toys too, no doubt) would come in and ruin it.

A few minutes passed in which L offered Mello one of his sugar cubes and Mello declined. It was not that Mello wasn't a fan of sweets; he rather felt, though, that right now a bite of food would have his stomach in knots more painful than were already there.

Then Mello heard what could only be Roger's knock at the door and, all too soon, Near was seated in the chair beside him. The boy was using one hand to twirl his hair in that disgustingly insipid way and the other to clutch a plastic robot to his chest.

Mello rolled his eyes and pointedly turned his body so that it angled in the opposite direction. _This_ might be the person who was to succeed L: a boy much too young to be playing with action figures (_dolls_, thought Mello viciously) with hair much too old and white to be on his child's face.

"Now," L said briskly, obviously sensing the hostility between the two but seeming neither disapproving of it nor amused by it. "I've called you both here because I've made a decision."

Mello straightened up from his annoyed slouch.

"I think that some explanation is in order." said L, looking at Near appraisingly. "For years now, Near has been the only child that I'd seriously considered selecting for my successor. Near, you've always been one of Wammy's best. Intelligence, determination, strong academic performance. Clear creativity. All things a detective would be lucky to have."

Mello turned to see Near's reaction to L's praise, but the boy's expression didn't seem to waver even once. The words just rolled off of him, the self-centered snob. Didn't he care that L had complimented him, had even given him the time day?

"I assumed you would be the one, Near, and acted from that assumption." L paused to take another sugar cube. Chewing thoughtfully, he turned to face Mello. "Then, a few months ago, Mr. Roger informed me of a boy he'd found in a church. Someone who was supposedly brilliant, an orphan. I agreed to have the boy, named Mello, sent to Wammy's House. In the time since, Mello, you've shown remarkable talent. Intelligence, determination, strong academic performance, like Near, but also an astonishing dedication."

Mello could feel his cheeks burning under the weight of such effuse praise. L was kind and generous with his words.

"I don't have to tell you that you both share distinct strengths and weaknesses. Sometimes, the weaknesses and the strengths are the same things. What I have to say is this: no longer will L act under the assumption that his successor is already chosen."

After making this pronouncement, L plucked away another sugar cube. He set it directly across the cube already resting on his desk. The little white blocks sat staring each other down, enemies at the line of battle.

Mello noticed that Near had stopped twirling his hair. The robot hung limply by his side and his eyes were riveted on L. His expression still hadn't shifted noticeably since coming inside, but Mello felt as though he could sense a bit of the investment that Near must have in L's successorship.

"Near, you are not out of the running. Mello, you are not now taking his place as the chosen one. You will both be considered for my title, from now until I make my decision. It could be years from now, it could tomorrow. All that is certain is that the both of you are the best I've found so far. It seems unlikely, not to mention obscenely avaricious on my part, to expect to find any others as qualified."

Mello couldn't believe what he was hearing. He'd once thought himself lucky to even have a chance, now he was being told that he had much more than that. He wasn't just _a_ kid, he was one of _the_ kids. He had a shot, a real shot at this.

"From now on, I will periodically meet with the both of you to monitor your progress, assess your strengths and weaknesses. See what you've improved on and what work you still have to do. I imagine that simple conversations won't always be enough for this, so I will sometimes design problems or sample cases or the like to help out. Eventually, I hope to have enough information about your habits and abilities to say which of you will be best suited to take my place. I'm sure that the people in front of me now are not the same people that I will meet in the future. You will soon be entering the period of life that determines the kind of man you will become. It is unfortunate that you will be competing aganist one another for my title in the midst of competing for girls, self-knowledge, and acceptance, but I don't believe it can be helped."

L's eyes passed between the pair of them strangely. Then he asked, "Do either of you have questions?"

Mello shook his head but Near gave a small cough and asked, "In the end, what should happen to the one who isn't chosen?"

Why should he ask that? Near was so confident, he couldn't possibly fear that he himself would be passed over. But then again, why would he ask for Mello's sake?

"I have no specific answer to that." L mumbled. "Know that the one who is chosen as well as the one isn't will be provided for, like all of the children at Wammy's."

Near made a sound of acknowledgement and gazed pensively at the floor.

"I would also like to take this opportunity to ask the two of you if you have any reservations, reservations of any kind, about competing for the title. If you do, now is the time to voice them."

Mello knew he had no qualms. This was the chance of a lifetime. Even if he did feel reluctant for some reason, there was no way he would say so.

Near seemed equally inclined to remain silent. To Mello's eyes, it even looked like he was making an effort not to breathe too loudly.

"Very well, then." said L. "I want you both to know that you have my respect, as well as my gratitude, for this undertaking. I know that there are rewards for you yourself if you succeed, but you must know that there are rewards for me as well. You cannot know what a weight will be removed from my shoulders when a successor is finally chosen. The Detective L is vulnerable now. I look forward to the day when he will not be."

Both Mello and Near understood this to be a dismissal. They each got up out of their chairs and turned to leave. Near left the office first, padding silently down the outside hall.

Mello, though, hesitated at the door. Making up his mind, he turned to face L once again. He found the detective watching him from the desk chair, his expression unreadable.

Very quietly, but very distinctly, Mello said, "Thank you."

L's eyes went very soft and also somewhat sad. "You are very welcome, Mello."

Then Mello left, feeling a strange mixture of fatigue, anticipation, worry, and supreme happiness.

***  
_Phew. Nearly 15,000 words of exposition, and now the _real _story can commence. Let the games begin!_

_I'm hoping to keep up with this Friday updating schedule but I can't make any promises about it. Being a university student is probably the best and worst thing for writing fanfic. You have weeks of no assignments due and then bam! four major tests fall into your lap at once. I can say that this fic will never be abandoned, though, and that I have an end date in mind. _

_I'd love to know what you guys thought of this chapter, as well as any predictions about what will happen next. These boys are fun to write, but they're also a lot a fun to talk about. :) _

_Thanks so much for reading! _

_- Magic_


	4. Establishing Motive

_Author's Note:_

_Hello, all. So happy to have gotten this chapter out on time. I was feeling kind of uncertain about its quality as I was writing. In fact, I almost scrapped the thing entirely and waited another week to post. But in the end, I decided that any narrative progress was good progress. When this fic is over and done, I will undoubtedly go back and revise it, because I'm obsessive that way. :)_

_This chapter is a bit shorter than the others. I attribute it to fatigue from all the papers I've been writing lately in uni. Ugh._

_Anyway, here we have Near, and the first of many challenges that L sets up for him and Mello. Let's just say, things don't kick off quite as expected... ;)_

***

Chapter Four - Establishing Motive

_Reveal not every secret you have to a friend, for how can you tell but that friend may hereafter become an enemy. And bring not all mischief you are able to upon an enemy, for he may one day become your friend. - Saadi_

It was the day of the first meeting.

It was the day of the first meeting and Near had been thinking about it all day.

He'd waited three months for this (3 months, 6 days, 11 hours, and 12 minutes) and now it was time. Near was about as excited as he could ever remember being. He was breathing a bit more shallowly than usual and he could feel his heart beating at 115% its normal rate. Even sitting in classes, as he was now, was a challenge. Near was not like the other children; he'd never felt it difficult to remain still for long periods of time. Now, though, he felt more like a typical seven-year-old than ever before. He was constantly fidgeting in his seat, picking up his pencil only to put it down again, glancing at the clock in front of the classroom every few minutes. It was so _hard_ to be here, knowing that this was the last class of the day and knowing that when it was over, Near would get his first challenge.

Near's mind predictably turned to exploring the possible tasks that L could set. He was so consumed in his imagination that he almost missed Mr. Winer asking him for an explanation of the existential fallacy.

By rote, Near answered, "Existential fallacies are faulty syllogisms because they involve two universal premises and a conclusion. Since universal premises are often unprovable or even unobservable, the conclusion of an existential fallacy is usually untrue." Then he returned full attention to his thoughts.

When L had brought Near to his office to announce the competition that day, Near had found Mello sitting in the chair opposite his desk and he had known something was up. Something _important_. And then L had opened his mouth, and even from the very first words he'd spoken, Near realized consciously what he'd understood instinctively for weeks: he and Mello were going to compete.

_"Near, you are not out of the running. Mello, you are not now taking his place as the chosen one. You will both be considered for my title..."_

Near didn't like to place too much emphasis on impulse reactions and emotional responses, but he couldn't help but acknowledge the feeling that Mello was going to be his first as well as his last rival. He couldn't imagine anyone more opposite him, after all. It was as though the pair of them were character foils in a storybook: the one colorless, cold, and passive, the other vibrant, hot, and relentlessly aggressive. It was fitting that they should be pitted against each other. It felt right.

Near had considered binary oppositions for literature once (actually, he'd only considered them to escape the alternative: a hopelessly transparent and mundane report on symbolism). He'd come to the conclusion that they were completely interdependent. Binary oppositions couldn't function independently of their counterparts; 'up' was not 'up' without 'down', black was not black without white.

That was why he'd asked L what was to become of the loser. Where was Near going to go when he and Mello had parted ways? He felt like the Near before the competition would not be the Near that came out of it (Heidegger came to mind). And after he'd established himself as the white to Mello's black, wouldn't he cease to be white when he finally won? How would the world know that he was white when they couldn't see the black that he might be if he were someone else? If he were like Mello?

Near thought he might be considering the issue a little too literally, but then again, he didn't particularly like the idea of losing his identity during this competition. It was good to consider all possible outcomes, so that he could prepare for them and meet them when they came.

In an abstract sort of way, Near had always feared losing his identity, losing himself. When his parents had given him up (for reasons he didn't know and didn't especially care to), his identity was the only thing he had. Near, _Nate River_, gifted, strange, isolated, controlled. These and other things were what made him who he was. He'd always defined himself in his own terms. And now, by L's pronouncement, that was no longer the case. He was now Near, Mello's rival and possible successor to the detective L. Identity meant a lot to Near, and he thought about the concept of understanding oneself often. It was common among orphans, he supposed, to do so. When he played with his toys, he often performed stories and small dramas to explore the origin of a particular action figure, how this doll came to be so raggedy and that one so pristine.

Near didn't want to be the puppet without an explanation. He would work to keep himself defined on his own terms, and not those of Mello, or even those of L. He would enter this game as Nate River and leave it just the same.

What was the time now? 2.43 p.m.

Two minutes. Just two more minutes until Logic class ended and he could begin his _true_ studies: the study of becoming the next L.

***

"Establishing motive."

After speaking the words, L took a long slurp of his tea, his mouth and nose disappearing behind the cup for several moments. When he set it down again, L stared at Mello and Near expectantly, as if it were perfectly commonplace to greet one's proteges with a transitive verb phrase instead of a hello and he was waiting for them to respond in kind.

Near toyed with the idea of saying "Is important," as a reply. He settled for matching L's blank stare and waiting for him to form some semblance of a complete sentence.

Mello stood next to him, confusion painted plainly across his features. Just looking at him, Near felt his energy wane. It was sometimes tiring simply to be in same room with the boy. Mello was so _public_.

As if his expression wasn't demonstrative enough, Mello asked, "What about establishing motive?"

Interesting. Mello seemed to have shaken off that disturbing taciturn quality he'd had at their last meeting with L. Near had found it strange when Mello went quiet in L's presence. He was positively stentorian around everyone else.

"That is the subject of your first task." L mumbled. They had met in L's office and he was seated at his desk, as usual. After speaking, though, he came around from behind the desk to lean against its front, hands pushed into his pockets. "You will be establishing a motive for a possible suspect in a hypothetical murder case."

That was new. The closest Near had come to considering matters pertaining to real criminal cases had been passing mentions in psychology.

"Here is the situation," L said, raising a thumb to his mouth. "A 56-year-old investment banker, male, Caucasian, is a successful and well-liked member of his community. He has many friends, a wife and children. Well off financially, upper middle class. Late one night, he is found dead in his home. Three gunshot wounds to the chest. "

L's eyes rolled upwards to study the ceiling. Near thought it was likely that he was making this up entirely on the spot.

"The man's wife is found in possession of a Derringer pistol when police survey the house. Thirty-six hours after her husband's death," L went on. "the woman books a flight outside the country. The police later discover that she has withdrawn the entirety of her savings from various banks and sold all the major assets that she and her husband acquired during their marriage. By all accounts, the woman appears suspicious. Why should she run, as she is clearly doing, if she is innocent?"

L's eyes returned to their study of Mello and Near. "The problem is in establishing a motive. The couple had just celebrated their 25th wedding anniversary. They'd raised two children together, both relatively successful. Neither had ever been married before and there is no evidence of extramarital affairs on the part of either party. Also, neither party held life insurance policies of any kind. No evidence of insanity, or any mental instability at all, in the wife or in the husband. But the evidence cannot be refuted. The woman looks terribly guilty and police have no other leads. It is up to you to explain why the woman would murder her caring, successful, and well-respected husband for no apparent reason."

Mello immediately opened his mouth, looking ready to spout off ten different explanations for the homicide, but he was impeded by a raised hand from L.

"I'd like you both to come to a consensus about the motive," L said placidly. "As you discuss your ideas, I will observe. Pretend that I'm not even in the room."

Mello looked like he'd swallowed a lemon whole. "You want us to...work together?!"

Near privately agreed with his incredulity. This was a competition, wasn't it? Why should he and Mello be expected to cooperate when they were obviously working against each other? And from the very outset of the game?

But then Near saw things another way. L was known the world over for working in peculiar ways. Perhaps he was always inclined to act outside of others' expectations. Maybe it was just an element of his personality. It certainly seemed predictable that Near and Mello would assume they would have to tear each other down to bring themselves up. Perhaps L simply wanted to thwart those expectations. If so, Near thought, he was doing an excellent job.

L's mouth curled into another of his odd, small smiles. "You can nearly always learn more about a person by observing them interacting with others than you can by observing them acting alone." he said.

Near sighed inwardly. It made sense, of course. Which meant that he could not try to change L's mind without appearing unintelligent. Or at the very least, belligerent. But honestly, working with Mello would be a trial. The pair of them didn't get along on the best of days. Throwing them together on the first day of a competition that would decide both their futures was like jumping headfirst into a snake pit.

"I have great faith in each of your abilities to work together civilly." L said, as if in direct response to his thoughts. "You are in competition, yes, but that should not mean you cannot find it in yourselves to cooperate."

Mello still seemed unconvinced. The corners of his mouth were turned down in a pronounced frown, his eyebrows drawn together unhappily.

Seeing this, L turned to address him specifically.

"Do this, Mello," he said. "For me."

Near could have been imagining things...no, he wasn't. There were definite signs of embarrassment from Mello after L spoke his last words. His eyes dropped to the ground, feet shuffling uncomfortably. And was that...? It _was_. A redness on his cheeks.

"Sit where you like," L said then, returning to his desk chair. "You may begin whenever you wish."

Mello threw himself right onto the floor, as though he wished he could sink right down into it. Near followed him (in a much less dramatic and wholly more dignified manner) and folded himself into his usual crouch, one knee against his chest.

After several seconds of watching Mello try to make himself occupy a smaller and smaller space, it became clear that Near would have to start things off. Otherwise, who knew how long they would remain on this carpet?

"What are your ideas?" he asked, thinking it polite to give Mello the first chance to voice an opinion.

Mello didn't seem to understand the motivation behind the gesture.

"Why do you want to know?" he demanded, jerking his head up from its hiding place amongst his knees and crossed arms. "So you can point out the precise reason why they're wrong?"

Near was annoyed. Mello was determined to make this as difficult as possible, was he? Well, two could play at that game.

"Reasons," Near said.

Mello gave him a look of disgusted incomprehension. "What do you mean, 'reasons'?"

"You spoke incorrectly. The correct form of the noun in that sentence is plural. You should have said, 'precise reasons,' since the word 'ideas' was plural."

Mello let out a sound that was nothing short of an outraged snarl and launched himself at Near.

In hindsight, Near thought, as Mello's fist connected with his jaw, maybe he should have considered the consequences of raising the ire of someone who was already discomfited and was naturally volatile to boot. Understanding this, though, didn't stop Near from landing a punch or two of his own. Turn and turn about.

Suddenly, a pale hand was pushing against Near's chest, neutralizing his attempt to bury his left foot in Mello's side. Near could see a spike of black hair in his field of vision and he realized that L had inserted himself between him and Mello. Well, L wanted to see them interact, thought Near spitefully. This was what he got.

Mello was panting heavily, angrily brushing his hair back from where it had fallen into his face. It was impractical to have hair so long. What purpose could it serve? Mello was curling the fingers of both hands to push it behind his ears. Such feminine hair and mannerisms. Mello probably thought himself pretty. Near was pleased to see that a bruise was already forming on that _pretty_ forehead.

"Perhaps I should clarify." L said, bringing himself back to the desk. "When I said 'discuss,' I meant strictly verbally. There are to be no physical negotiations here."

Perversely, Mello's cheeks burned even brighter than the last time. What was the matter with him?

"Sorry, L." Mello muttered.

"It's quite alright, Mello. You may continue."

Mello took a deep breath. He appeared to be mustering all his strength in order to prevent himself from attacking Near again and continue on in a civil manner. Near was strangely flattered that refraining from attacking him warranted such mental stamina. Mello closed eyes for a long moment, then said, with precise intonation and deliberate calm, "I thought that the murder could have been a crime of passion."

Near didn't want he and Mello to descend into 'physical negotiations' once again, but he couldn't let that explanation pass without argument. "L said there was no evidence of extramarital affairs."

Mello gave him a withering look. "Adultery isn't the only conceivable reason a couple would fight. It also isn't the only conceivable motivation for a crime of passion. The woman and her husband could have been having an argument and she could have lost her temper."

Near considered that. "I will agree," he said, "that such a scenario is possible, but it is so unlikely as to be dismissed. Why would a couple who'd been married twenty-five years suddenly have an argument in which one party lost their temper? There's no evidence that such a thing had ever happened before."

"L didn't say that!" Mello exclaimed. "He only said there was no evidence of extramarital affairs. The police should investigate any past domestic disturbances and determine whether the couple ever had any emotionally intense disagreements."

Near was still dubious. "Even if they uncovered anything, it would be highly unlikely that any jury would condemn someone on that alone. We need something with more substance, or the police will never get a conviction at trial. The idea was creative, though."

Mello didn't look particularly grateful for the praise, but he did let the idea drop. "What explanations have you got, then?" he asked.

"I think we should revisit insanity. I know that L said there was no evidence of mental instability, but nothing else makes sense. Either the woman did have something concrete to gain from killing her husband, or she didn't, in which case, she's insane. There's nothing we know of that she could have gained from the murder. She must be unbalanced somehow."

"Not necessarily," said Mello thoughtfully. "I do agree that insanity is the only option if we can find nothing profitable for her that stems from the homicide. But what if we're approaching the question from the wrong angle?"

"How do you mean?"

"I mean, what if, instead of homicide, the guy's death was assisted suicide?" Mello looked uncomfortable saying the words, but he ploughed ahead. "From the evidence, we can only assume that the woman really was devoted to her husband and him to her. If we can't find any reason for her to want him dead, maybe it's because there isn't one. It was _him_ that wanted him dead."

"But why would the man want to die?" Near asked. Mello's theory seemed completely counter-intuitive. "He had everything. Why should he want to commit suicide?"

"There is something suspicious about a life that perfect and normal. Either the guy really was that lucky, or he worked himself to death to get where he was. Maybe he was tired of the struggle."

"Or maybe he didn't actually struggle at all. Maybe he got what he had with dishonesty and felt guilty in his middle age." Near speculated.

Mello's eyes flashed. "Yes! And no matter how much he loved his wife, he couldn't go on with the burden of it all. But since he really did love her, he wanted her to be the one to take his life."

"And of course, she would protest at first, but in the end, she wouldn't refuse. If its what he really wanted, how could someone so devoted ever refuse?" asked Near, warming to the idea. "So she helped him. And the she ran away, apparently guiltily, but not because she was _responsible_."

"Exactly," Mello said, a proud grin on his face.

He and Near turned to gauge L's reaction to their idea. He was drinking from his teacup again and he returned it to the desk before speaking.

"Well done," he said. "You came together to achieve a common goal and you succeeded. Now the police and prosecuting attorney can sleep easily, knowing they have an explanation for our hypothetical suspect's deeds."

Near and Mello stood up from their places on the floor. Near wasn't sure what he was supposed to do now. Was that a dismissal? Was he supposed to leave?

"Near," said a voice to his left. Near turned and was astonished to see Mello studying him calmly. "You made some good points."

Mello was...complimenting him? What kind of sinister hallucinogenic gas had seeped into L's office? Clearly it was affecting his mental processes.

"You know," Mello continued grudgingly. "if you stopped correcting everyone and showing off and generally being annoying all the time, you might actually be a decent human being."

Near decided to take that for the backhanded compliment it was and respond in kind. "And if you could _listen_ to other people sometimes instead of always looking for ways to surpass them, you might be a marginally tolerable human being yourself." he said.

Instead of reacting with anger, as Near had assumed he would, Mello gave him a tiny smirk. Near noticed that L was watching the proceedings thoughtfully, his tea abandoned.

"You're not bad, Near." Mello said, interrupting the short silence.

He thrust a hand out, very formally, and Near hesitated before taking it.

When their hands met, Near felt the most curious sensation of unreality. The feel of the plush carpet of L's office under his bare feet and the slight chill of the air conditioning paled in comparison to the impression of his skin next to Mello's. His palm tingled where it lay against Mello's grasp, distracting him from his surroundings and clouding his mind further.

"Well then!" L said abruptly. "I'm sure each of you will be wanting dinner."

Near thought privately that dinner was the last thing on his mind.

"I will see you both again when we next meet." L stood, slouching as usual. He walked to the door and held it open for Mello and Near to leave.

Near's thought were far from L's words, though. It was peculiar, he mused, what had transpired in L's office. Had he and Mello just come to some kind of truce? It was so strange to think about Mello as a potential friend. Mello was so popular at Wammy's. Wherever he went, practically everyone crowded around, seeking his attention. Even L, in his own way, was taken with Mello. Was this just Near finally falling under the spell, as everyone else seemed to have done ages ago?

Walking back to his dormitory, he realized he could still feel the burning heat from Mello's hand on his palm.

***

_And so...the plot thickens. :)_

_And oh yes, you did read that right. I did just write a (brief) fight scene involving Near. Has that even happened in Death Note fic before? I hadn't even planned it. Suddenly the boys were like, "Attack!"_

_What can I say? Um, boys will be boys?_

_As always, thanks so much for reading. I'd love to hear any thoughts you might have about this chapter as well as predictions for the future. I know how this story will end and the plot is roughly laid out already, but hearing ideas is always fun. :)_

_- Magic_


	5. Artful Retaliation

_Author's Note:_

_I'm proud to say that this chapter was not written entirely on Thursday night, as the last two have been. I'm working on giving myself more time for outlining and revisions and I think I'm approaching something of a strategy. While I am happy that this story is compelling enough for me to keep myself awake at all hours of the night writing it, I don't think I could have continued that way for very long. Seeing the sunrise after writing nonstop for eight hours straight was kinda making me feel like a crack addict. :P_

_Big thanks to everyone who reviewed last chapter. Each and every comment is appreciated. :)_

_I was terribly excited while I was writing this one. Everything seemed to just go in the chapter, whereas the last really felt like I was plodding along and just getting through it. Since I was a bit dissatisfied with Establishing Motive, I feel like this is a good sign._

_And I'm not gonna lie, when I got the idea for this chapter, I had to actively stop myself from squealing aloud in class. One of the images hit me like a brick to the forehead and I couldn't leave it alone. I'm sure I freaked out a whole lot of unsuspecting people, grinning at nothing as I thought about it. Anyway, the whole outline for the chapter grew around that one picture. I'm sure you will be able to tell which one it is. :)_

***

Chapter Five - Artful Retaliation

_"To every action there is always an equal and opposite reaction; or, the mutual actions of two bodies upon each other are always equal, and directed to contrary parts."_

_- Sir Isaac Newton_

"So what do you think L's going to have for us this time?"

Mello was taking the stairs two at a time, Near trailing behind him at a snail's pace. Why the boy always had to move as if he had all the time in the world was beyond Mello. He would enter classes, and leave them, in the same way: feet dragging along the floor, scuffing his toes along the carpet as though he were trying to memorize the feel of it. Mello thought it was absurd and an obscene waste of time. Especially now. They were on their way to see L again! And there was Near, looking as if he were actually _trying_ to postpone the event.

Mello heard Near sigh and mumble, "How could I know?"

Mello blew his bangs out his eyes. Conversing with Near was exhausting.

The pair of them had reached an understanding of sorts. Through unspoken mutual consent, Near had stopped pointing out the miniscule flaws in Mello's answers in classes (mostly) and Mello had stopped coating Near's Transformers with super glue (mostly). It was a precarious balance, struck during the months following their last meeting with L, and always on the verge of collapse. Times like these, Mello felt sorely tempted to just slap Near upside the head and have done with it. Honestly, the kid couldn't converse like a human being to save his own life. Here was Mello, trying to make conversation as they walked, because _that was what normal people did_, and Near would respond like Mello was asking him to scale Olympus just to open his mouth and say a few words.

"Fine, Near, new topic." Mello said, with authority. "How was your birthday?"

"It was my birthday." replied Near, sounding vaguely puzzled by the question.

Mello felt like their interaction had hit a new low. He put a positive spin on the thought by reminding himself that they had, at least, reached the top of the stairs.

Mello injected forced patience into his voice. "_Yes_. I'm asking you how it went. Did you get a present? Did you eat cake? Did you do anything vaguely interesting on the 24th of August?"

"I found a new train outside my door. Excepting that, my birthday was a day like any other."

This was getting ridiculous. Mello couldn't believe he was being forced to ask so many leading questions. "And did you _like_ the train?"

Near paused thoughtfully. "It fit the track and the wheels didn't stick as it went around. It was satisfactory."

Mello smiled, knowing that Near wouldn't be able to see it from behind the curtain of his hair. He knew the robot would have been passé.

They were approaching the door of L's office. Mello felt a shiver of anticipation at the sight of it, thinking about how long it had felt since he'd last seen L and how wonderful it was going to be to talk to him again. Mello had promised himself that he would not start another fight with Near this time and he repeated the vow to himself now. He knew L was disappointed with the way he had handled their argument the last time. Every time he thought of it, Mello's stomach twisted and his heart wrenched painfully. He actually felt sick at the thought of bringing that look of regret to L's face a second time.

Coming at last to stand in front of the door, Mello raised his fist to knock. He received a monumental shock when the door swung open before his hand could connect with the wood.

There stood L, posture abysmal but lips quirked up in pleasure. He was wearing his usual white shirt and jeans, and his hands were stuffed in pockets as normal. There was one thing about L's appearance, however, that was completely new.

L was wearing glasses.

They were clear plastic with frames that wrapped around his eyes and covered them completely from either side. The glasses were clearly designed for safety, but they were also smooth-looking and seamless. They seemed to be designed by someone who believed that articles made for protection did not necessarily preclude an attention to style.

Mello held L in very high esteem, and he was sure that no one (except maybe the Almighty) was more worthy of respect, but he'd never thought that the guy was _cool_, per se. It looked like he was going to have to rethink that.

"Hello boys," said L. "We won't be meeting in my office this time. I've come the conclusion that too much time spent indoors is detrimental to child development. Today, I thought we could hold our meeting outdoors."

L raised a hand and adjusted his glasses slightly. "What do you think?" he asked.

"Sounds great!" said Mello, smiling.

He and Near might have come to interact civilly, but that didn't mean that they weren't still in competition. Mello would have a clear advantage in an outdoor setting (since Near was about as amenable to sunshine as a vampire) and he intended to take full advantage of that. Would they be racing? Doing push-ups? Whatever it was, Mello could beat Near hands-down.

Near looked like he had realized that as well. He was never forthcoming with his thoughts, but Mello could see from the aggressive way that he twirled his hair that he was not thrilled with the idea.

"Very well." L said. "If you'll follow me, please."

Mello was feeling deliciously excited as he went after L down the hallway. This was going to be great. There was nothing better than an assurance of success, and L's suggestion of going outdoors was as good as that. If Mello and Near were going to compete physically, Near was going to have to get in some training, and soon. If the way he was trailing Mello a few feet behind was any indication, just walking was strenuous for him, never mind anything else.

After descending two flights of stairs and crossing the dining room, Mello found himself in the backyard of Wammy's House.

The grounds of the mansion extended as far as the eye could see. In the front yard, huge gates surrounded the grass on all sides, but in the back, there was nothing to hold Mello back. He could run as fast as he wanted for as long as he wanted here. Even as he knew that coming to Wammy's was the doorway to opportunities of all kinds, there were times when the paneled walls felt stifling. Out here in the back year, the whole world was open to him and he could _see_ it.

L was wandering over to one side of the field, where a fold-up table stood resting. When Mello came to it, he saw things that he'd before only ever seen in movies and read about in books.

_Guns_.

A vast array of guns, all of them pistols, but in every size and color imaginable. There were some that looked as long as the width of Mello's chest and some that looked like they could fit in the palm of his hand. Most of them were black, some were grey, and a few were the color of pure ivory. Mello could tell that some were antiques, whereas others were clearly the latest technology. These newer ones were sleek beasts, shiny and polished but blatantly lethal.

When Near finally caught up with Mello and L, he took only a passing glance at the guns before returning his eyes to his toes. Mello wondered if he had seen weapons before or if he was just uninterested in them. It was entirely possible that he was; Near was strange that way.

L planted himself at the head of the table, his eyes focused on Mello and Near where they stood at the other end. He didn't seem at all on edge in the presence of firearms, as if he was surrounded by guns on a regular basis. Mello thought that was odd. How much danger could a man get into, sitting in front of a laptop screen all day?

"I've requested that the yard be off-limits for anyone but ourselves this afternoon." L said. "Very few have seen my collection, and I've no wish for any of the younger children to pick one up and have an accident."

"These are _yours_?" Mello asked. He knew his voice betrayed his awe, but he couldn't help it. The sight of all the pistols, arranged as they were on a single surface, made him fairly quake with wonder.

"Mmm." L murmured, affirmatively. Mello watched his eyes pass over the weapons, almost fond in his gaze. "I admit I have a bit of a fascination with firearms."

L continued in his perusal of the guns for a time, pausing at a few here and there. Then he abruptly selected one of them, seemingly at random. It was black, one of the ones that looked very recently made, and bold-looking, with a barrel that seemed almost too big for Mello to wrap his hand around.

L held it with care but also a familiar ease, his fingers curled confidently around the handle. It was odd to see him hold anything with more than two fingers at one time.

With his opposite hand, L held the barrel of the gun. After a few moments, his fingers began to slide slowly back and forth over the length of it, almost absently. L himself watched his hands, as though he was surprised at what his fingers were doing.

Mello thought there was something oddly fascinating about L handling a lethal weapon. It was dramatic, compelling even, and he couldn't have torn his eyes away if he wanted to.

Finally, L looked up from his hands to see Mello and Near once again. "Since a detective will often find himself dealing with less than morally upright individuals," he said, "it is important for him to be able to protect himself at all times. You are never completely secure. If you find yourself facing an enemy who is armed, and you yourself are not, there is very little you can do to avoid submitting to his demands. Better to be prepared."

"Therefore, your challenge for today involves these," L continued, using the pistol in his hand to gesture to the others on the table. "I will be teaching you how to handle and fire them, as I don't expect either of you has ever done so before. Then, we will practice shooting and perfecting your aim.

"I will be judging both how quickly you grasp the fundamentals of handling a gun and how proficient you become in shooting accurately during the course of the afternoon. If each of you would take a pair of glasses and ear muffs, we will begin."

Mello realized that he hadn't even noticed the two sets of safety glasses and ear muffs at the far end of the table, so transfixed he was by the pistols. He reached for one of each, stretching his arm as far as possible and leaning his torso on the table edge. Near opted to shuffle over to L's end of the surface and pluck the remaining set away daintily.

Mello found the glasses relatively comfortable, if a little weird feeling, but the ear muffs disrupted his hair completely. He had to push the ends of it behind his ears to fit them over properly and the band across the top threw his bangs into disarray. He combed them back into place furiously.

Near, of course, slid the things over his ears with no regard to his appearance. From just the wild mop of white on his head it was obvious that Near cared little for looks.

"Now then," said L. "There are a few simple but important rules to follow when one handles a gun. Most are common sense. The first is this: never point the barrel at something you don't want to shoot. Many accidental homicides have occurred when someone was sure that his gun was safely locked, only to find that it fired when pointed at another human being."

L paused, possibly to allow the first rule to sink in. It wasn't necessary, though. Mello was hanging on his every word.

"The second rule," continued L, "concerns the trigger. Never rest your finger on the trigger of a gun until you are ready to shoot. Failure to do so has also resulted in numerous accidents through the years. And the last rule: always keep your weapon unloaded until you want to use it."

L plunged a hand into one of his pockets and retrieved a small black rectangle.

"This is called the magazine; it is where the ammunition is kept. In this case, we'll be using bullets. You load them into a pistol like this."

With a clean, efficient movement, L used the heel of his palm to push the magazine into the handle of the pistol he held. As it slid into place, the cartridge made a satisfying click. Then L turned the gun on its side and pushed a small dial inwards. Mello realized he was disabling the safety.

"You will be practicing with the targets set up along the perimeter of backyard." L said, turning to face the far side of the grounds.

Mello followed his gaze, eventually coming to see five complicated-looking racks placed at regular intervals there. A few clay circles were strung along each, hanging above the ground and painted with bulls-eyes.

"In order to shoot accurately, you must extend your arm completely and align the rear and forward sights."

As he spoke, L raised his right arm in the direction of one of the targets. Held securely in his hand, the pistol looked almost like it was just an extension of himself. L tilted his head slightly in the direction of the gun. His every movement seemed controlled, and so very not L-ish. His back was ramrod straight, shoulders rolled back confidently. L's feet were planted squarely on the ground. Everything about him was poised, everything proud.

"Hold yourself as still and steady possible," he said, his voice almost a whisper.

As Mello watched, L's eyes narrowed and focused sharply on the target. His fingers tightened slightly on the handle of the pistol.

"When you are ready," L continued, still in a near-whisper, "bring your index finger to the trigger and-"

Then Mello realized that there was something very wrong this picture.

"Wait!" he interjected.

L turned and looked at Mello expectantly, his arm still in its raised position with the gun.

"What is it?" L asked.

"You don't have your ear muffs!"

L smiled gently, huffing out a small laugh. He pushed his hair away from his ear with one hand.

Peeking out of his ear canal was a small, bright orange piece of foam.

"I prefer these." L explained. "The muffs are awfully bothersome, the way they press down on my hair."

Mello nodded, feeling foolish. Of course L would protect himself. He didn't need Mello to look after him; he was practically a grown man, and the world's best detective besides!

With an unreadable expression, L continued. "Your concern shows the proper attention to safety, though. I notice that Near did not seem so troubled."

Before Mello could make head or tails of that statement, L turned to face the targets once again. Without any further warning, he fired off eight shots in quick succession. The bullets made loud booming sounds as the left the barrel; Mello could hear them even through the coverings on his ears. Each boom was followed by a mechanic-sounding _ping_.

After the last shot rang, L ripped his glasses off and studied his target.

He shook his head, lips drawn grimly. "Missed one."

Mello couldn't believe it. He could see several dark holes punched into the clay where the bullets had embedded themselves. All but one were within the middle circle of the bulls-eye, and even that one was only a few inches shy. And those targets weren't at all close.

L was _dangerous_.

"Now it's your turn." L said, removing the magazine and returning the safety to the on position. "Near, we'll start with you."

Near seemed neither pleased nor disappointed with this. He gave one short nod in response and dropped his hand from hair-twirling level. Mello supposed this was Near's version of rolling up his sleeves.

L returned his pistol to the table with the others. He made a small humming noise, perusing the array of weapons laid out there. He picked up one of them, a purely white pistol, smaller than many of the others. When Mello looked at it more closely, he could see that it was engraved all over with tiny filigree designs. The handle was an opalescent ivory.

L brought the pistol to Near. "I think this one will be best for you," he said.

Mello burst into muffled chuckles. L was going to make Near use a _girly_ gun.

L glanced sidelong at the sound. Mello thought he would be chastised for laughing, but instead, L grinned back at him and they shared a moment of secret mirth.

Near held the gun cautiously. Even though it was small, it looked entirely too big for his small hand, and he shifted it nervously in his grip. The thing had looked harmless compared to the other guns L had. Next to Near himself, though, it looked positively menacing.

"I will load the bullets for you this time," L said, taking the gun from Near again and loading it with the same efficient movements he'd used before. Then he returned the gun to Near's hand and asked, "Do you know where the safety is?"

Instead of answering, Near turned the pistol over in his hands, studying it. After a few moments, it became obvious that he had no idea.

"Here," L said, with a hint of impatience. He took the gun back and removed the safety guard with a quick motion.

When the pistol was returned to him, Near's eyes flashed quickly to Mello and then back to the gun. It was impossible, wasn't it, that Near was...embarrassed? Yes, Mello decided. No way Near had ever felt shame. Mello doubted he even knew what shame _was_.

"Now, aim for the second target." L instructed, indicating the target next to the one he'd previously shot. "Do as I did earlier and empty the whole clip."

Near nodded, his eyes finding the target. He raised the gun, but shakily, and not at all as L had done. Whereas L was confident in himself as he handled his pistol, Near was plainly unsure. Mello could see the barrel of the gun sway in his grip.

He eventually fired one shot, and then another. He hesitated for a few long moments before firing the third and hesitated for an even longer time before firing the fourth.

L sighed. "Stop," he said, his tone almost bored, preventing Near from shooting again.

Near lowered the gun, paying attention to point it directly at the ground. He turned to L and looked at him without expression.

"What did you do wrong?" L asked, clearly expecting Near to understand his own mistakes.

"I hesitated." Near said, sounding as close to sullen as he ever did.

"And?"

"And I didn't hit my mark."

L picked up another gun from the table. "When you hold a weapon, any weapon, you must hold it with assurance. Besides being more accurate with your attacks, a firm grip will always intimidate an enemy more than a weak one."

L hefted the pistol to demonstrate, the gun resting securely in his hand.

"Second, you must hold a gun at eye level. If you hold it below the level of your eyes, as you did, you will never hit the target, because the bullet will always strike a place underneath the one you envisioned. Try again."

Near raised his pistol again. This time, his grip was more solid-looking, his eyes staring down the barrel. When he shot, he fired the remaining bullets quickly.

Mello surveyed the results. Near's target _was_ hit, but not in the middle. Most of the marks where made on the edges of the circle.

"Passable." said L. "We will continue practicing in the future. Now it is Mello's turn."

L returned Near's pistol and his own to the table. For Mello, he picked up another, one completely unlike the gun he'd chosen for Near.

This pistol had a black grip and trigger guard but a gleaming chrome barrel. It was very modern looking, compact without being delicate, stylish but straightforward.

L presented the gun to Mello with the handle turned outwards. When Mello slid his hand over the grip, he felt cool smoothness under his fingertips. The handle was just the right size for his hand, seeming sturdy but still under his control. Mello was exhilarated.

"I've already loaded that one." L said. "I knew before that it would be the one for you. Do you know where the safety is?"

This was a chance for Mello to get one up on Near. He could find it, he thought, he could.

And then he did. The switch was just underneath his thumb and he pushed it down firmly.

"Very good." said L, and Mello felt himself swell with delight. "Now, I want you to aim for the target to the right of Near's. Remember to keep your arm steady and empty the whole clip."

Mello nodded enthusiastically. This was going to be good, he knew it.

He mentally reviewed L's instructions. Keep your arm steady. Hold your gun with confidence. Keep gun at the level of your eyes. Fire quickly, until there are no more bullets left.

One by one the shots rang out, each bullet sounding louder from this position. Mello's whole frame rocked with force of the gunshots, his arm vibrating under the gun's power. When it was over, Mello scanned his target to see how he had done.

Well, it was closer to the bulls-eye than Near's shots had come. Three of Mello's shots had only made the periphery of the circle, and a couple hadn't even made the clay, but two bullets were halfway between the edge and the center.

L said, "Excellent, especially for a first time."

Mello was astounded. Any praise from L was usually sparing at best. By his standards, this practically constituted gushing.

"Very promising. I think we can improve things a small bit just by adjusting your stance."

"How?" asked Mello. He thought he'd followed all of the directions L had given him...

"Well," L began, coming to stand directly behind Mello. "I myself like to practice shooting one-handed, both to maintain the use of my left hand and also to see how accurate I can become while doing so. When most people use pistols, though, they hold the gun with two hands, to maintain a steadier hold. I believe that it might be beneficial for you to start out using both hands as well, at least during the first few times you shoot."

From his place a few feet away, Mello could see Near's eyes narrow. The corners of his lips turned down just enough to form a frown. Why did he look so put out?

Suddenly, Mello felt L's words being spoken directly into his ear. L was close behind him...kneeling? Mello looked down to find that one jean-clad leg was forming an...an _L_...on his left side. The other, Mello knew, would be bent at the knee, supporting L's weight on the ground. Mello hadn't even noticed him move.

Mello felt surrounded. He could feel L's chest against his back, his rib cage expanding and contracting as he breathed, pressing on Mello's shoulder blades and then drawing away. The ends of L's hair were brushing the back of his neck, tickling his skin and raising goosebumps. More than these, though, Mello felt L's thighs, the inside of one of them pressed against the length of his left leg and the top of another pushed against the back of his right.

Then Mello heard L murmur, "If I may."

All at once, his world stood still.

L laid his the palm of his hand on Mello's shoulder. He followed it down the length of his upper arm, to his elbow and along his forearm. Mello felt every motion like it was his own skin L was grazing instead of just the jacket he was forced to wear in the Winchester chill. L's hand traced Mello's arm all the way down to his wrist, until it came to rest over Mello's own fingers, where they still held his pistol.

"I will guide you," L said. His voice was like velvet. "Let me steady your arm. You just concentrate on when to pull the trigger."

Mello's heart thudded painfully. L was so _close_. He was all over: his body behind, one leg to the left, and one arm to the right. Beads of sweat began to form along Mello's hairline; he couldn't cope. It would have been beyond him at that moment to say his own name, forget about firing a gun accurately.

It got that much worse when Mello felt L's other hand slide down his left arm the same way the other had before. He drew Mello's left hand up and over to his right, fitting the palm snugly against the base of the handle of the gun. Mello's shorter arms were encased by L's longer ones, the pistol held between their joined hands.

"Now, on my word, align the sights and pull the trigger." L told him. "Are you ready?"

Mello found the strength to nod, not trusting himself to speak. He felt like his senses were being smothered, replaced with white noise. A rushing, roaring sound was filling his ears and he thought his peripheral vision had all but vanished.

"Alright," Mello heard L say. "Shoot."

Mello pulled the trigger, and this time, the gun didn't force him back so strongly. It still pushed him a bit further into L's embrace, though.

A very pregnant pause followed. Then:

"Well done," L spoke into his ear.

And all of a sudden, his hands fell away from Mello's. L drew away, very quickly, as though there was something urgent he'd forgotten to do. When Mello turned to see what had happened, all he saw was the white shirt on L's back retreating.

"Leave the guns, Roger will collect them later." L called. He did not turn or look back as he spoke, his legs carrying him swiftly back to the mansion.

Mello turned to find Near watching L. His expression not blank, as was normal, but instead...unreadable.

"What was _that_?" Mello asked.

Near only stared.

***

_You know, I was sorely tempted to title this chapter Phallic Symbol. Just for the lolz._

_If you're interested, here is the website I was using to reference the guns. Some of them are truly impressive-looking. My favorite is the Springfield Armory Subcompact. lundestudioDOTcom/othersDOThtml_

_The gun L uses is a 9mm Beretta Storm. Mello is given a .45 Taurus Millennium Pro and Near a 9mm Browning Renaissance (which wasn't actually designed for women, but is very pretty nonetheless)._

_Thanks again for reading! I'd love to hear your thoughts. :)_

_- Magic_


	6. Dramatis Personae

_Author's Note:_

_This chapter gave me so many problems and I have no idea why. I had this horrible feeling of impending failure as I was writing it. I couldn't explain it if my life depended on it. Near is usually so natural for me...this time, he decided to run away and hide for days at a time. And no amount of Transformer bribes would bring him back!_

_Anyway, don't be surprised if something about this feels off to you. It feels off for me as well...damned if I know how to fix it, though._

_As always, a million thanks to all those who reviewed last chapter. You guys make all the headaches worth it. :)_

***

Chapter Six - Dramatis Personae

_"Speak of me as I am;_

_Of one not easily jealous, but being wrought,_

_Perplex'd in the extreme. . . ." - William Shakespeare, Othello_

When Near entered L's office on the 31st of October, he did not know what he was expecting. He did know, though, that it was not what he found.

Near was apathetic toward Halloween, and had been for as long as he could remember. Not being of any particular religious persuasion, he could not condemn the holiday as blasphemous or evil, but neither could he say that the day was one to be celebrated, either. Near had little patience for holidays as a whole; the only one he made an effort to tolerate was Christmas (as the day was often accompanied by modest increases in his toy collection). They seemed to be excuses for purposelessness: the history of the events that holidays seemed made to commemorate were often misunderstood or forgotten altogether. Instead of genuine observance of days past, people appeared determined to fill the time hanging trite decorations and consuming exorbitant amounts of food and alcohol. Halloween, in Near's mind, was basically the same. The only difference was that the trite decorations came in the form of costumes and the celebrants were often juveniles among the population.

So when he opened the door, Near did not expect to find L perched on his chair wearing a mask and cape, calmly sucking on a pumpkin-shaped lollipop.

In fact, Near was only able to identify the person in front of him as L at all by the untidy black hair sticking up in all directions and the jean-clad knees curled up to his chest. The mask that L wore covered the area from his eyebrows to his cheekbones and was as intensely black as the cape thrown over his shoulders. When coupled with L's hair and eyes, the detective seemed to resemble nothing more than an inky black blob.

"Near," L greeted. "Is there anything the matter?"

Near realized then that he was probably staring and he worked as best as he could to stop. L was eccentric, he knew, but this was ridiculous.

"Nothing," said Near. He made his way to one of the chairs in front of L's desk, doing his best to avoid eye contact. If he met L's eyes, Near thought it was entirely possible that he would fracture a rib laughing.

Though, when he thought about it, doing so would be no more than L had done to him at their last meeting.

The door nearly swung off its hinges when Mello arrived. It slammed with a bang against the opposite wall and then oscillated wearily back and forth. Mello himself stood frozen in the frame, mouth agape. Near thought that he could guess what had Mello so surprised.

"L..." Mello said, his voice holding equal parts awe and bewilderment. "You're..."

"Celebrating All Hallows Eve," L said, answering his unspoken question. "as well as my birthday."

Near was faintly disgusted at the way Mello tripped over himself to utter an enthusiastic "happy birthday!" at this news. He remained standing in the doorway, gaze rooted to L with no sign of changing focus.

"Hello, Mello." said Near, with uncharacteristic spite. "It's lovely to see you again, too."

"Hi Near," Mello replied absentmindedly, eyes still on L. Apparently for all his trouble, Near didn't even warrant an glance.

Near didn't know how a situation could be both nauseating and infuriating at the same time but this one certainly seemed to qualify. He pulled an action figure from his pants pocket and passed it through the air, trying to concentrate on happier, more productive, things. Like the fastest way to get Mello's attention away from certain bat-like detectives.

L apparently knew the solution to such a dilemma. He seemed to have successfully shifted Mello's awareness of himself to an awareness of the other desk chair to Near's right. Mello brought himself away from the doorway and threw himself into it dramatically, in much the same way he threw himself into his seat in class. His long legs were splayed apart at the knee, his arms sprawled along the sides. Near supposed Mello was attempting to compensate for his child's frame finding itself in an adult-sized chair.

Mello compensated quite well, Near reflected, and pushed his action figure along with more force.

When the pair of them were situated, L pulled his lollipop from between his lips with a soft _pop_, obviously preparing to explain the topic of this afternoon's meeting. He cleared his throat softly and took a long sip from the teacup sitting to his right. Near didn't know how a person that had operatives in every developed country on the globe could be cultured enough to drink Earl Grey and still take pleasure in candy designed for five-year-olds.

Instead of speaking, though, L pushed his chair out from behind his desk and stood up. He stood with his characteristic slouch, hands deep in his pockets, a blank stare apparent even from behind the mask. Near wondered if L had thought that he could no longer lord over the two of them effectively from a sitting position and had decided to speak standing up from now on.

But L remained silent, as well as still. Was L trying to create an aura of suspense, waiting for the perfect moment to describe his brilliant plans for the day? Why did L have to be so dramatic?

Moments passed. Mello fidgeted in his chair, tossing his hair and tapping his fingers on the armrests. Near knew that he was dying for something to happen, and he privately sympathized, though he didn't show it. If L wanted to waste their time with theatrics, Near could wait him out.

Speaking of, was L standing a bit taller than before? His spine seemed a bit straighter than it was a while ago, he shoulders rolled back a touch. Now that Near was paying attention, he could see that L was changing his posture by degrees, slowly. L's torso adjusted and lengthened, his chin raised a few notches, until L was standing perfectly erect. L did nothing by accident, Near knew. He was trying to communicate something.

L's gaze lost its vacant quality, steadily becoming more sharp and alert. Near fancied he could see a gleam in the black eyes; it was subtle, but it was there. L pulled his hands from his jeans pockets and folded them haughtily across his chest. Looking as he did now, L was a different person. It was mystifying.

"_Yo soy Alejandro Vincente Ramos_" L spoke. Even in Spanish, Near could tell that L's voice had changed. It was normally soft and low, the words often indistinct from one another. Now, L's voice was crisp and ringing. "_Estoy lastimado y yo necesito seguridad de los policias_."

Near had studied enough Spanish to know that L spoke like a native. Near himself wasn't yet fluent in the language and he still had to work to disguise his accent. He couldn't help being impressed (though he tried not be, anyway).

Mello looked like he would fall out of his chair. If seeing L in costume surprised him, watching him stand up straight and hearing him speak a foreign language might give him a heart attack.

Abruptly, L uncrossed his arms and dropped into his usual hunched posture. He ripped the mask from his eyes and untied the strings of his cape from the knot at his neck.

"That," L said, voice deep and muted once again, "was how a bank robber from Madrid introduced himself to me, three years ago. He had stolen nearly thirteen million dollars in Spanish pesetas by the time I apprehended him."

L bundled the mask and cape together and threw them into a corner carelessly, the articles falling into a shiny black heap. He sunk into a crouch at his desk chair and continued, "I was only able to catch Mr. Ramos by pretending to assist him in his last robbery. The endeavor required considerable back up from the Policía Municipal, as well as the ICPO. What made the mission a success, however, was my ability to become someone I was not.

"A detective must always be ready to disguise himself, by any means necessary. It is not often that L enters the public domain in person, but when I do, I always adopt a pre-determined persona. Speech patterns, posture, styles of movement...all must be considered when one pretends to be someone else. The ability to change one's habits to the point of obscurity is a invaluable skill. Even when you are not investigating a crime, you will be prime targets for murderers, if only because your deaths will mean a freer environment for criminal activity. It is imperative, therefore, that my successor possesses the ability to hide himself whenever and wherever he needs to. Personas are the most efficient ways of doing so, and today you will begin cultivating some of your own."

L put his pumpkin lollipop back into his mouth, sucking on it thoughtfully for a few seconds before speaking again.

"The process of creating and maintaining a persona is an art that cannot ever be truly perfected," he said. "You must constantly work to refine the way in which you present yourself to others. Mannerisms, accents, speech patterns, dress...nearly every personality trait you posses must be assessed and reassessed. One hole in your identity can rip the whole act to shreds in seconds. It is relatively easy to fool the average man on the street, admittedly, but when you become L, you will sometimes work with men who are far above average. These men might sometimes be the criminals you chase. In these situations, you cannot rely on your intellect to improvise as you go. You must have a plan, a script to follow. Improvisation might work if you always knew what to expect, but believe it or not, sometimes you will be surprised by the things you see. Sometimes, a crime will catch your attention that you could never have foreseen. In these situations, if you have a strategy already in place, your mind will be free to analyze the crime instead of preoccupied with creating an entire identity."

Near could recognize the truth of L's words, and in fact, he'd already considered some the ideas he presented. An identity was as much a construction as one wanted it to be, and Near often thought that his own was nothing more than a pile of blocks stacked together to form a halfway decent skyscraper.

That didn't mean he had to like the way that L described his concepts, though. L often paused in between words to take a bite of cake or a sip from his teacup, sometimes in the middle of a sentence. As if Near and Mello were expected to wait as long as he deemed necessary for the rest of his thought. As if they were _less_.

Near hated it. And he hated the way Mello stood stock still when L spoke, paying close attention to his every syllable. No matter how disrespectful or downright rude L was being to the pair of them.

Or to Near in particular. That last meeting...with the guns...Near felt he would be justified in openly waging war with L after the stunts he'd pulled. Calling him on every mistake, knowing full well it was Near's first time even holding a firearm, much less shooting one. Implying that Near himself was substandard because he hadn't been born with a silver revolver in his mouth.

Near was _not_ inferior, not to Mello, and not to L either. L had no right to imply that he was. Near was first in every subject. He was dedicated, level-headed, creative, and thoughtful. There was no reason to suppose that an inability to fire a gun was indicative of failure as a detective.

Near was not unable, though. A lack of experience didn't indicate a lack of potential. He would learn to fire a gun accurately if it killed him.

L was obviously quite proficient with them, flaunting his ability to shoot as he had. Manipulating the weapons in his hands with ease. Like he was some paid entertainer. Near wanted to shout "Enough already!", the way he'd oh-so-subtly made such a show of his skill.

But Near had to be honest with himself. He knew that if it had been just he and L out in the backyard that day, he would not have been nearly (_ha_) so annoyed with how things had gone. The true reason for his vexation was that L had treated him so callously in the presence of another.

It was Mello.

Near was just coming to terms with the idea. But really, all the signs pointed that direction. In the first few days after that day in the yard, Near contemplated what had happened (L had been positively vile) and why it had happened (because he was a vile being) and what it could mean (that L should _fry_). Then he had contemplated the same, reviewing the events again, only without Mello's being there. Near found that his conclusions were considerably less impassioned the second time around. Mello's presence is what had made the whole ordeal so infuriating. QED.

The way Near must have _looked_.

Besides revealing L's formidable ability to toot his own horn, the shooting practice had brought Near's regard for Mello to the forefront of his mind. It was clear now that Near was paying more attention to Mello than he'd paid to anyone before. Why should he care whether anyone had seen him degraded? Wasn't it enough that he was degraded at all? But the reality was, on some level, Near thought it was significant that Mello had seen him at this worst. And more than that, Near found himself thinking that Mello was _interesting_ (a term he'd only ever applied to inanimate objects, never to people). Near's skin would turn cold or searing hot when Mello came close to him. Sometimes it happened even when Mello was just talking.

As much as he hated using such a term, there really was no other word for it. Somehow, Near had developed a..._crush_ on Mello.

He wasn't happy about this development. To be honest, Near rather thought his life would be infinitely easier without such feelings, if only because of the inconveniences they caused. The worst part, though, was that Mello clearly didn't have a crush on him.

That illustrious honor went to L. Near could see it as plainly as the nose on his face. Mello paid so much attention to L; his eyes followed the detective wherever he went, he stared with rapt attention whenever L spoke. When L said anything to Mello directly, Mello's whole face would light up. It was painfully obvious. In fact, the only person that Near thought was unaware of Mello's feelings was Mello himself.

L certainly knew about the hold he had over the boy, and he exploited it according to his fancy. Wrapping himself around Mello that day, ostensibly to teach him how to shoot. Honestly. L wasn't an idiot. He must have known how Mello would respond. If the boy didn't hero-worship him before, he definitely would have after _that_. L knew just how to reel Mello in...it was sickening. Holding his gaze a few seconds longer than he held Near's. Asking him, "Do this, Mello. _For me_," in that voice of his.

It was maddening, truly, but Near knew that nothing would come of his ruminating on the situation. He must take action if Mello was to see him as anything but the weakling L had made him out to be. Near wondered idly if what he was about to do would drive L to kick him straight out of the competition. Then he realized that it was more likely L would do so if he _didn't_ retaliate in some way.

"Near," came L's voice, breaking into his awareness. "It's your turn, now."

Here was his chance. Fortunately, Near already had a plan. Funny how he hadn't even noticed when Mello was trying out his persona...just went to show how exasperating L himself could be.

It was very lucky that Near had an English accent. It gave these things the illusion of authenticity.

"I pray you, in your letters," said Near, quoting directly from memory. He enjoyed drama on occasion, and _Othello_ was one of his favorites.

"When you shall these unlucky deeds relate," he continued. "Speak of me as I am; nothing extenuate, nor set down aught in malice. Then must you speak of one that loved not wisely but too well; of one not easily jealous, but being wrought, perplexed in the extreme."

It was not enough to simply speak the words, Near knew. A persona wasn't built on just the things a person said. More often than not, _how_ you said the lines had more bearing on the idea than the lines themselves. He paid attention to gesture and inflection, speaking more expressively than he ever had before. It took care, but Near even molded his facial expression to match his character's emotion.

Mello turned in his chair, looking at Near with his eyebrows furrowed. Near wondered if he'd studied this particular work of Shakespeare yet. L surely must have.

Near held eye contact with him throughout, making no attempt to look away. It was imperative that L understand that Near was meeting his challenge. L would hear these words and the meaning behind them.

L seemed to get the message loud and clear.

"O, beware, my lord, of jealousy," he quoted back, with intensity, unafraid to meet Near's eyes. "It is the green-eyed monster, which doth mock the meat it feeds on. That cuckold lives in bliss, who, certain of his fate, loves not his wronger: but O, what damned minutes tells he over who dotes, yet doubts, suspects, yet strongly loves!"

Mello still seemed perplexed. Near didn't doubt that he understood that the two of them were referencing Shakespeare, but their reasons for doing so had probably escaped him. Mello was a genius, but even genii were hard pressed to discern Near's emotions. Or just the fact that he possessed them. Mello did seem to know that there was something under the surface though; his eyes passed between Near and L rapidly, like he was trying to catch one of them out as soon as they revealed themselves.

After L finished, he gave Near a minute nod. L was impressed. Good. L had to know that Near was not going to back down without a fight.

"Mello," L said, without taking his eyes off Near, "I think I'd like to speak to Near alone. I will see you at our next meeting."

That's right, Near thought. L wouldn't want Mello to see him verbally abuse an eight-year-old. That might make Mello think twice about where he bestowed his affections, after all.

Mello didn't seem at all pleased with this idea, but Near knew that (right now, at least) it was physically impossible for him to disobey L in anything.

"Alright, L." he said sullenly. "See you next time. Bye."

With a final glare at Near, he stormed out of the office.

The second that the door closed behind Mello, L opened his mouth, as if he'd been holding in his words and couldn't wait to say them any longer.

"Near, I want to apologize for our last meeting."

Near was shocked. He thought that L wanted to see him alone to chastise him for his audacity. Or to defend what he done with the guns. Tell him that he had to be tough to inspire greater competition and maximize Near and Mello's efforts to win. The last thing he'd expected L to do was apologize.

Near would have been inclined to assume that L was lying, for some hidden purpose of his own, but he could see immediately that this wasn't the case. It was clear from the way that L wouldn't meet his eyes now that he was sincerely troubled. L was good at hiding his discomfort; Near doubted that Mello would have been able to discern it. With the years that Near had known L, however, he could tell.

"I think I know the reason why you molded your persona after Othello. You think I am like Iago, trying to steal away your Desdemona. But I assure you, I am not trying to drive you and Mello apart, especially after the two of you managed to form a civil relationship.

"I was unspeakably rude that day. Believe me when I say that I did not intend for our time together to take that course at all. Things got out of hand, and there is no excuse for the way I treated you. You did not deserve any of it."

Near went into this meeting bracing himself for open antagonism. But instead of enmity, what Near got was L putting himself at Near's mercy. It was...refreshing. Near found that he admired L's ability to admit his own mistakes. If L had denied that he'd done anything wrong, or acknowledged wrongdoing but refused to apologize for it, Near would have lost all respect for the man. Nothing was more distasteful in a person than an inability to admit when he or she had erred.

Instead of responding to L's apology, though, Near asked a question of him. One that he realized he didn't know the answer to, and had never thought to ask.

"How old are you, L?"

L sighed, looking suddenly more weary than he ever had before. "Today marks my nineteenth birthday." He seemed as though he was ashamed of the fact.

Nineteen. It was strange how L could seem simultaneously younger and older.

"It's odd." Near said. "I thought that as a person aged, they got more control, and things got easier for them."

L's mouth pulled up at one of the corners in a kind of wistful, off-center grin. "In some areas, they do. But in others..."

Near nodded. He was beginning to see exactly what L meant.

"Anyway," said L. "I wanted you to know that my behavior before was unacceptable. I promise that you will never have reason to distrust me again. That goes for Mello as well. I've never had reason to apologize to anyone before, and now I find myself fighting the urge to do it over and over again until I run out of breath. I let myself get so caught up in..."

L's voice trailed away. It soon became clear that he wasn't going to continue.

"Happy birthday, L," Near said. He couldn't bring himself to say the words 'apology accepted.'

But by the soft "thank you" that L gave in answer, Near was fairly sure that he understood anyway.

***

_I realized while writing this chapter that my L is quite verbose, isn't he? Ah well..._

_I was looking for a literary work with characters whose relationships were ambiguous enough to fit this story but clear enough to be representative of L, Mello, and Near. After some cursory research, I realized that _Othello_ fit the bill nicely. For those of you not familiar with the play, the character Iago decides to separate his commander, Othello, from his beloved Desdemona by implanting doubts as to Desdemona's fidelity in Othello's mind. The doubts are unwarranted and Desdemona is supremely loyal, but Othello's jealousy eventually drives him to kill her (and later himself)._

_The motivation for Iago's maliciousness is the subject of great scholarly debate. Is he simply evil? Is he jealous of Othello's respectable social standing? Is he tormented by unrequited love? In that case, though, the question is, does Iago really want Desdemona, or Othello himself? I personally ship Othello/Iago like whoa. :)_

_God, how obvious is it that I'm an English major?_

_I'd love to hear what you all thought about this chapter. Constructive criticism is very welcome, for this and any other work. (Though I feel like this installment especially needs it.) Thanks for reading!_

_- Magic_


	7. Take Two

_Author's Note:_

_*rubs hands together gleefully*_

_Ok guys, you know how I promised all the deep content and mature themes way back in the first chapter of this thing? Well, this chapter marks the beginning of some of that. The rating is going to M from here to the rest of the story._

_I know. I'm excited, too. :)_

_This chapter is not sexually or violently explicit in itself (I would rate it T), but just to avoid changing the rating multiple times, I'm moving the rest to M now. Incidentally, I have all of The Love Below mapped out, chapter by chapter. Phew. It was work, lemme tell you. Now all that's left is to put my nose to grindstone and write._

_I really appreciate all of you following this story up to now. I hope the rest will meet your expectations. :)_

***

Chapter Seven - Take Two

_"The acceleration produced by a particular force acting on a body is directly proportional to the magnitude of the force and inversely proportional to the mass of the body."_

_-Newton's Second Law of Motion_

"Mello, for God's sake, eat something."

Matt tilted his plate to the side and used his fork to push half of his chicken onto Mello's. He tossed a slice of bread in for good measure, as well.

"We're not leaving until that is in your stomach," Matt continued. Mello knew he was trying to sound stern. Behind his orange goggles, though, Mello could see the worry in his eyes.

"I'm not hungry," sighed Mello. He knew that Matt was just looking out for him, but honestly, if he'd said it once, he'd said it one hundred times. That chicken looked no more appetizing to him than Matt's shoes.

It had been two days since he'd last eaten anything, and one week since he'd managed to get more than a few bites down at a time. His friends, and even some of the teachers, were concerned for him. Like Matt, they would often try to put food on his plate at mealtimes, expecting him to cave to their demands that he eat. No matter how much they pleaded, though, Mello couldn't bring himself to finish even half a plate. Food had become tasteless, and when he tried to shovel it into his mouth, it felt like dust on his tongue.

There was a time when Mello had thoroughly enjoyed the dining room. He remembered his glee when he'd first came to the Wammy's, finding that he could eat whatever he wanted and as much of it as he desired. Meeting Trudy, who doted on him as no one else had before. Nowadays, though, Mello found no pleasure in the place. The only reason he ventured here at all anymore was to be with his friends.

They helped distract him, sometimes.

"I agree with Matt," Near piped up. "Malnutrition is accompanied by many undesirable symptoms of illness: fatigue, compromised immune system, dizziness, inability to concentrate, muscle weakness...in extreme cases, osteoporosis or death."

Near was sitting to his left, calmly spooning mashed potatoes into his mouth.

"I took the same biology class that you did, Near. I _know_." Mello said, but he knew that there wasn't enough venom in his tone. Or any, really. For the past few months, Mello's voice seemed unable to hold any real inflection. Most of his sentences came out like weak sighs.

He was starting to believe that he'd never be able to speak with enthusiasm the way he used to. Whenever Mello would try to inject feeling into what he was saying, he ended up thinking the effort wasn't worth it. Everything seemed so _hard_ lately. Talking was hard, going to class was hard, eating food was hard. Some mornings, Mello thought it would be easier to just lie in his bed all day and forget the world outside.

He made himself go to classes anyway, though. L wouldn't pleased if he gave up his studies. And Mello didn't want to disappoint him. Even if...

Even if L didn't seem to care much about that anymore.

Mello realized that two identical stares were pointed at him. Matt's at his right and Near's at his left. He knew why they looking at him that way. He had never been very good at hiding his emotions. Any time he thought about L, Mello knew that his face betrayed him.

Once, in the mirror, he'd thought about the last conversation he'd had with L and caught himself making an expression that was fairly painful to witness. It was like a wince, but somehow not strong enough. Like a vague idea of the real thing. The memory of a wince.

"You've got to stop this, Mello." Matt said. "It's not healthy. Look at Near, he's not acting the way you are, and he had just as much contact with him as you did."

Mello had no doubts about who the 'him' in that sentence referred to. And the pronoun wasn't less painful to hear than the real name.

Matt wasn't stopping, either. "Near had _more_ contact with him, actually. They knew each other for a long time before you got to Wammy's. Right, Near?"

"Two years."

How could Near say that without his voice breaking? How could he remember L and not give one sign of distress?

"See?" continued Matt. "So really, if anyone should be messed up about it, it's him. But Near's fine. So you should be fine too."

Matt really didn't get it. Near was a block of ice. A rock. He wouldn't have shown emotional discomfort if L had disappeared for ten years, much less one. L's absence was a physical ache for Mello and for Near it seemed like nothing at all.

Matt had never been with L the that way they had. He couldn't understand.

And oh God, he just kept digging the hole deeper.

"Snap out of it, man. L will come back when he comes back. Worrying about it won't change anything. Just forget about it for now. There's nothing you can do."

"Right, Matt." Mello said. He couldn't hear this right now. It was hard enough dealing with L abandoning him on his own. Now Matt wanted to _talk_ about it? "I'll just forget about him. It's only my future we're talking about, after all. What's so wonderful about becoming the next L, anyway?"

Matt was out of order. He had no right to tell Mello what to do. He had no idea what it was like.

"But then, why should I ask you?" Mello continued. "It's not like you were ever in the running, really. How would you know anything about it?"

Matt looked shocked at Mello's words. On some level, Mello knew that he didn't deserve that. Now that he had started, though, he couldn't seem to stop. Everything that he'd bottled up for months came pouring out of his mouth and there was nothing he could do to stem the flow.

"You never knew L. You're third. You never _will_ know him, so shut up. You don't know the half of what you're talking about. And you, Near." Mello said, rounding on the other boy. "You're even worse. You have every reason to feel the way I do, and you just sit there. Like L leaving was nothing at all. Both of you think I'm the one with the problem. At least I can remember him. You feel _nothing_. It's _you_ who should change, not me."

Mello never raised his voice, never shouted. Every sentence came out flat, but he still felt bone-tired after he finished. Mello had always had an almost boundless energy, and now just speaking exhausted him. Dear God, what was happening to him?

Mello pushed back his untouched plate. There was no point in staying here any longer. If he was going to be miserable, he might as well do it without the company of people who would lecture him for it.

"I'm going to my room." Mello muttered. He didn't wait for a response, just pulled himself out of his chair and walked out the door without a backward glance. As he turned the corner, though, he caught the tail end of something.

"...No it isn't, Matt." Mello heard. It was Near's faint voice, floating out into the hall. "Mello is simply at that age now."

***

When he closed the door of his bedroom behind him, Mello fairly collapsed onto his bed. Holding himself up suddenly felt like a monumental effort and it was all he could do not to fall down right on the floor.

He wasn't feeling faint, exactly. Mello was still lucid and very aware of his surroundings. It was more of an extreme fatigue, of body and of mind. Mello knew that if he couldn't get some food down soon, though, Near's predictions would start to come true. He could very well be passing out in classes tomorrow.

Near was right about a lot of things, it seemed. He knew that Mello's inability to eat would eventually seriously hurt him. He also saw what else was happening to Mello, and he knew the reasons why. One of them, at least.

Mello's eleventh birthday was four days ago. Nearly all of Wammy's had wished him a "happy birthday" that day, and he'd been given presents and a cake. Despite the gifts and well-wishes, though, Mello couldn't muster much enthusiasm for the event. As far as Mello could see, there was nothing to celebrate about a year spent in melancholy.

The day did give him pause for other reasons, though. Mello thought eleven was an early age for him to be experiencing what he was. For girls, it was normal, of course. They matured faster. But wasn't this sort of thing supposed to happen to boys when they were older? Thirteen or fourteen at least?

Mello would have liked to think that his depression stemmed solely from L's absence. It _was_ largely that. His lack of appetite, surely. But if he was honest with himself, L leaving wasn't the only reason he would feel so moody.

Mello was growing up. He was changing.

He was already experiencing the mood swings associated with adolescence. His whole being could change at the drop of a hat lately. Some days, Mello thought that he was, if not happy, at least resigned to the way things were. And then other days, like this one, where he would find himself at war with the world. Nothing and no one understood him and Mello would feel more isolated than he ever had before.

Soon all the rest would come. He would get taller, his shoulders would broaden. Mello thought he could already feel his vocal cords lengthening, forcing his voice lower.

Actually, one didn't have to be a genius of Near's caliber to see what was going on. But even so, Near was the first one to call it what it was.

It was funny. Mello once would have thrown a tantrum over Near's diagnosis, regardless of its truth value. How dare Near presume, and all that. But now, Mello just accepted it.

Now, Mello could even recognize that Near might be right in the way that he was dealing with L leaving.

Despite what Mello had said in the dining room, he could see that Near was functioning much better than Mello was at the moment. He could still _eat_, for one. Near still performed in classes. He was better than ever, in fact. He still played with his toys in his free time. Near was the same.

The only change, really, was that Near carefully avoided the subject of L. Near never volunteered anything, of course, about L or about anyone else. But the for past six months or so (ever since it became clear that L wasn't going to come back anytime soon), he was absolutely closed-mouthed about the whole thing. At first, Mello had badgered him for information, thinking that Near might know something about L that he didn't. Was L sick? Did he have some special case somewhere? What was going on? If Near had any inkling of L's whereabouts, though, he wasn't revealing them to Mello. When Mello brought it up, he would only shrug and turn back to his toys. Eventually Mello gave up. But he still sometimes thought that Near was hiding something from him.

It was nothing, though, compared to what L was hiding from him. Mello had always understood that L wasn't always at Wammy's. Every few months or so he would leave for other cities, sometimes other countries. To work on cases, Mello assumed. But when he did, L was always sure to leave word with he and Near, either himself directly or through Roger. Mello always knew where L was.

And then, suddenly, nothing.

After their meeting about crafting personas, Mello had anticipated seeing L again in a few months, as was usual. But two months came and went, and L did not call for them. Soon two months turned into three, and those three turned into four. Mello almost made himself sick with worry during that time. He'd assumed first that L was ill, and put his fledging detective skills to work to find answers. Mello searched everywhere he could, questioning Near and then Roger and then the teachers. He even resorted to the other children, despite the knowledge that they probably had no more information than he did. No one gave him an explanation for L's absence. Without any concrete information, Mello's imagination had gone into overdrive, his mind envisioning hundreds of ghastly scenarios that would explain why L had disappeared so mysteriously. He would have probably gone into a real breakdown if it wasn't for Roger's assurance that L was alive, and not the victim of some horrific criminal with a vendetta.

After half a year went by, Mello started to feel himself slipping into a kind of funk. He started to lose interest in playing football and games in the yard. Others would have to actively encourage him to go outdoors, something that was never needed before. Mello had always loved being outside. But eventually even his friends' coaxing wouldn't do the trick, and Mello locked himself inside. He would go to classes, the dining hall, his room, and occasionally the library. That was all.

At nine months, Mello began to lose his appetite. In the beginning, it was barely noticeable. He still ate his meals, just a little less food at each. Over time, his portions got smaller and smaller, to the point that they could hardly be called meals at all. He started losing weight. His clothes fit looser. He began to see the hint of ribs and shoulder blades when he showered. Trudy tried to tempt him with special breakfasts and elaborate dinners, but nothing worked. Only with the utmost cajoling would Mello put a fork in his mouth and chew.

Now, even that was failing. How much worse would it get? Mello couldn't remain this way, he would go insane. Something had to change. If L didn't come back, and soon, Mello didn't know what he would do. In his more melodramatic moments, he fantasized about running away from Wammy's and setting out to look for him. At least then he would feel like he was doing something, instead of languishing the way he was now.

Did L know what he was doing when he left? Did he know that Mello would fall so far because he was gone? That Mello would turn into a shell of what he was before, barely recognizable as the loud, vibrant boy he had been? Mello didn't know. It was almost laughable to consider the idea that L could not foresee at least a part of what Mello would become. But to acknowledge that L was prescient was to acknowledge that he knew about Mello's pain and left anyway. It was to acknowledge that he didn't care.

It was that idea that hurt Mello most.

Mello was so tired of thinking about this. Even the smallest things would set off memories of L. The sight of a candy wrapper. The scent of tea. His classes, his grades. Wammy's House itself was pervaded with L's phantom presence. And if that wasn't enough, sometimes just the sight of Near was enough to bring it all flooding back.

Mello sighed, reaching to switch off his desk lamp. He stripped and crawled under the covers of his bed. Whispering three Hail Marys and one Our Father, Mello prayed for sleep to come quickly. Maybe a few hours of unconsciousness would provide some kind of solace.

He didn't know how long it took for him to drift off. Maybe minutes, maybe hours. Eventually, though, the outside world fell away. Everything real left his mind and Mello entered the strange universe of dreams.

***

He was in a extraordinary room, one he had never seen before. It had high, arched ceilings and marble walls. Everything he could see was pure white, but shadowy and dimly lit. There were areas of the room that seemed to shimmer faintly with color, purple and green and red and gold, incandescent and undulating. Mello couldn't see where they were coming from, and it was only while he was looking for their source that he noticed that the room actually held a pool. Mello was inside it. He didn't know how he could have missed that fact until now. The water was so warm, bubbling faintly, and dark, dark blue. Nearly opaque.

Mello swam a few laps, though not as fast as he wanted. The water was holding him back. No matter how fast he paddled or how hard he kicked, he could only go at one slow pace. It was frustrating. Mello floated on his back for a while after that, staring at the ceiling, mesmerized by the vague pictures that the shimmering colors formed before they dissolved into something else.

For a long time, the only sounds in the room where those the bubbles and the soft churning of the water. It was so quiet, Mello almost fell asleep inside the pool...

"He doesn't seem so bad, Near. Are you sure you weren't mistaken?"

It was L, standing at the water's edge, Near at his side. Both of them were staring at Mello as he bobbed up and down in the water. Strangely, Mello felt as though he had been expecting L to show up. Near as well.

Mello smiled vaguely at the pair of them and continued on floating. It was nice that three of them could meet here.

"He's not himself." Near was replying. "Look at him, L. Look at his _skin_."

Where L and Near talking about him? What was wrong with his skin? Mello stopped floating and began to tread water, extending his arms and examining them under the faint lights.

Well, that was odd, he supposed. His skin didn't look unhealthy, though. It was almost pretty, really. All blue like that.

"Mmm..." L murmured. "Yes, perhaps you are right. Let's get him out of there. If we are not careful, it might be permanent."

Mello didn't know how they were going to get him out of the pool; there was no ladder, and Mello rather thought that the water wouldn't let him go even if there was. But L and Near must have figured something out, because the room and the pool dissolved around him.

Mello found himself back in his bedroom, or what he felt was his bedroom. It looked nothing like the memory of the place that he had in his mind. Maybe he had just changed things and forgotten? This room was much bigger than he remembered. It looked like a suite. Mello could see a walk-in closet to his left and there was a door in the back corner that must lead to a connecting bath.

Somehow, Mello's twin bed had grown into a double. He was lying in the center of it, on his side. The sheets were much softer than he was used to; they were cool where they draped over him, all along his torso, to his hip and down the length of his leg. It didn't seem strange that Mello was naked. The bed was plush and comfortable and he stretched luxuriously.

Apparently, L and Near hadn't left after they'd gotten him out of the pool. They stood and the side of bed, the one that Mello was facing. They were still watching him, faces impassive.

"Better?" asked L. Though he was looking at Mello, the question was clearly directed at Near.

"Yes." Near said. "It was the right decision."

The two of them looked eerily similar, standing next to each the way as they were. It was just their hair (color as well as texture) and height that differentiated them, really, Mello thought. Same black eyes, no pupils visible. Same detached expressions. Even the same facial structure, to a degree. Mello wondered if it were possible that they were related somehow. Distant cousins, perhaps?

L nodded. "I believe so."

Mello realized that his skin was back to its normal color. He thought it was a bit of a shame; the blue really was nice-looking. But how could L and Near have known that he had changed back? He was under the covers, after all, and they were over there.

As soon as the thought entered his head, though, Mello found that it was no longer accurate.

L and Near were in the bed, too, under the covers with him. Near was in front, laying on his side the way that Mello was, facing him. He seemed to blend right into the sheets, the white of his hair impossible to distinguish from the white of the pillowcase. Mello pulled the top sheet over his head and over Near's as well, to heighten the effect. In addition to finding that his attempt was successful, Mello found that under the covers, Near was as naked as he was.

Did that mean that...?

Mello turned to glance over his shoulder. Behind him, he saw the ends of L's black hair and the pale curve of a shoulder, and further down, a prominent hipbone. L was nude as well.

As if to confirm the fact somatically, L's arms encircled his waist, holding him loosely. His hands extended to Near, who grasped them in his own.

Mello lay between them, seeing Near in front of him and feeling L behind. None of them spoke a word.

Mello didn't know how long they stayed in that position, just breathing.

Then, Near looked over him to L, nodding minutely. L made a sound of acknowledgement.

Suddenly, Mello felt his hair being nudged over his shoulder, and then there was warm breath at the nape of his neck. The contrast of that heat against the coolness of the sheets was stark.

He knew what was coming, and come it did. A soft press of lips on his skin. Over and over, up to his hairline and across the back of his neck. Skimming over the top of one shoulder and then the other.

Occasionally, Mello would feel the wetness of a tongue. It was never more than a touch and never longer than a second or two. But even that much was enough to make him shiver all over.

On and on it went, L's mouth never staying in one place for long. In between movements, he would sometimes utter small murmurs of satisfaction. Near maintained his silence, watching closely.

Eventually each press of lips lingered for longer and longer moments, until Mello was sure that there would be places that remained raised and red afterwards. L's arms tightened around him, pulled him closer. And Mello was filled with so much _wanting_...

And then L shifted, and his mouth touched the place in between Mello's shoulder blades. And then he shifted again, and his mouth went lower, and lower still...and then -

And then Mello awoke, sitting bolt upright, gasping for breath. He couldn't remember ever waking up from a dream with his heart pounding so strongly. It was like a jackhammer in his chest; Mello thought it would burst right through his skin. He tried to slow it down, taking deep breaths. _In and out. In and out._ He stared into the darkness of his bedroom, trying to focus on the quiet of the night instead of all the noise in his head.

His hair was sticking to his forehead, plastered around the sides of his face with sweat. Mello pushed it back, feeling how hot his skin felt in the process. The blankets were stifling and Mello threw them off himself as quickly as he could. No matter what he did, though, he couldn't get comfortable. Everything was too warm, too close. Flashes of images kept appearing behind Mello's eyes, the pictures just as vivid as they had appeared in the dream. Over and over again, they kept coming, one on top of the other, like drops of water into a pool.

Mello fell back onto his pillow, thinking about everything and nothing.

He stayed awake for the rest of the night.

***

_Sorry guys, no L this chapter. Well...not really, anyway. ;) He will be back, though. Promise._

_Finals and whatnot are coming up, so updates might be a bit slower in the future, for the next few weeks anyway. I will do my best to maintain the Friday schedule, but I don't want make any promises I can't keep. If chapter eight isn't up next week, I'm probably being buried under a mountain of papers that need writing. If that's the case, pray for me. I'm sure I'll be needing it._

_If the need for fic becomes too great, though, check out some of the stories on my favorites page. Especially if any of you are LxLight fans, there's a lot of those. All of them are fabulous and all are highly recommended. :)_


	8. Intricate Recapitulation

_Author's Note:_

_So after school tried to steal my brain away from me and mash it into a squishy pulp (and nearly succeeded), I thought that there would be no way I could finish this chapter on time. I hadn't written one word before Thursday night and when I finally sat down to work on it, I assumed that this week's update would have to wait at least a few more days._

_But I managed to get it in just in time. I also discovered that Near is a better match for Real Life woes than I originally gave him credit for. He grabbed my attention and absolutely would not let it go until this chapter was completed. And I thought Mello was the demanding one! There was actually a point where I was pulling my hair in frustration, Near was so LOUD in my head. _

_Also, fans of "The Waste Land" should proceed with caution...Eliot gets a bit of a beating here. I blame pretentious professors for my current animosity toward academia. _

***

Chapter Eight - Intricate Recapitulation

"_Did he lie? did he laugh? does he know it, _

_Now he lies out of reach, out of breath, _

_Thy prophet, thy preacher, thy poet,_

_Sin's child by incestuous Death?_

_Did he find out in fire at his waking, _

_Or discern as his eyelids lost light, _

_When the bands of the body were breaking_

_And all came in sight?" - Charles Swinburne, Dolores_

"Can anyone give me an interpretation of the second stanza?"

Mr. Foster peered out at the class from the front of the room, tossing his chalk excitedly from hand to hand.

Here's an interpretation, thought Near. T.S. Eliot was a sadist.

_April is the cruelest month..._

Right. And modernist poetry is the cruelest literature.

Did Near's teacher think that it was funny to assign this poem on the first of April? If he did, his sense of humor was in dire need of assistance. Mouth-to-mouth resuscitation, perhaps.

Near couldn't believe the kind of disjointed, utterly incomprehensible drivel that people could spout. Talking of hermaphrodites one moment and Fisher Kings the next...And then to have the words enshrined in ivory towers for decades...

Was it too much to ask for a bit of coherency?

Of course Mr. Foster thought the work was gold. He obviously couldn't see the irony in the title of the poem.

The waste land, indeed.

At that thought, Near paused. This was the fourth time in as many months that he had caught himself in such a bitter mental loop. He was giving himself over to pointless flights of fancy. What did his opinions of T.S. Eliot matter to anyone? His poetry wouldn't vanish just because Nate River thought that the man was far more revered than he deserved.

But Near knew that wasn't even the problem, not really. He could despair of modern literature as much as he wanted, if only he knew that he wasn't doing so to avoid thinking about more concrete subjects.

The class was wrapping up now; the other students were gathering their things and stuffing them into rucksacks and bags. Listening with half an ear to Mr. Foster's instructions for next class, Near closed his textbook and shuffled out with his schoolmates.

He turned a corner and climbed the staircase that would take him to his bedroom, thinking that he would indulge in a few hours solitude before dinnertime. Near found that he often needed to lock himself away from others after classes or before mealtimes. Be they young or old, English or foreign, intelligent or simpleminded, whatever, people made him tired. Near knew that it was his innate introversion that made him feel that way. He understood that, but even so, he found that his exhaustion around others had increased dramatically these last few months.

That was another thought that gave Near pause.

He had finally reached his bedroom door. With minimal, efficient movements, Near put his key in the lock and turned the handle. When he was inside, he closed the door solidly behind him, breathing a sigh of relief. Then he took a few steps forward and slid his textbook onto the bookshelf in the far corner.

As he did so, Near stopped to consider all the titles on the shelves there, the collection of books he'd amassed during his short nine years and eight months on earth. They really were magnificent, he thought. Not an obscene amount. Thirty, forty at the most. But each one containing tens of thousands of individual words. So many words, and each one carrying with it an idea. So many words. Hundreds of thousands of them, all arranged into sentences, meaningful strings of information, and all of those organized into paragraphs, and those into chapters, and those into volumes. There was so much _thought _here...

But there Near went again, thinking about the titles on his bookshelf to avoid the subject he didn't want to consider.

There was nothing for it, then. As he always did when he found himself being a coward in his mind, Near forced himself to confront the ideas that he was subconsciously evading. If one could not brave one's own thoughts, after all, how could one brave anything else?

L. Mello. L and Mello. Mello and L.

It had now been one year and four months since L's mysterious disappearance, and things had gone from bad to really bad to even worse.

Mello was being watched around the clock. After he'd fainted on the stairs, Roger had put the teachers on duty escorting him to and from meals. One of them would stand behind his chair, watching him force bites of food into his mouth. Making sure that he didn't spit them out into a napkin secretly. Mello wasn't allowed to leave until his plate was cleared.

Near was doing all he could about the situation. It was hard, however, for him to watch Mello waste away before his eyes. Even though Mello was eating again and had stopped losing weight, he was still deteriorating.

Mello had gone from being a lively, mischievous, determined boy to a sullen and silent adolescent. He didn't shout out answers in class the way he used to, he didn't pick fights with Near the way he used to. The things that Mello had seemed to be so fond of doing completely vanished from his schedule now. His day was consumed with classes and meals (and studying, Near supposed). That was it. Mello had changed.

Near suspected that the onset of puberty was only partly responsible. No, he _knew _that it was only partly responsible.

Knowing the true cause of Mello's transformation left Near feeling frustrated and helpless. What could he do? Track L down from whatever country he'd hidden himself in and bring him back?

More than a few times, Near had tried to contact L. He'd searched databases and mainframes and files of every kind to get some whisper of a phone number or an email address, hoping that some lead would turn up somewhere. But none of his investigating made any difference. He hadn't even come across a _hint_ of L's whereabouts. Nothing worked. L didn't want to be found.

As if the futility of his efforts weren't disheartening enough, Near also had a keen understanding of his motives for seeking L out. They were not particularly admirable ones.

Simply put, Near wanted to get L back so that he could get Mello back. Near wouldn't lie to himself about that. It was entirely selfish, but there it was.

L's leaving had turned Mello into the depressed shell of himself that he was now. Therefore, Near hypothesized that L's return would bring the old Mello back. Mello would become the Mello that he used to be. He would be active and energetic and angry and tenacious once again. He would become the Mello that Near had _enjoyed_.

At some point over the last year, Near had come to find that the Mello he'd once known was gone and he had found that he missed him. Mello was by far the most dynamic child at Wammy's. Near used to be captivated just watching him walk down a hallway. He had a way of lording over not just the other orphans but even the carpets and the wall hangings and the lamps as well. Mello used to have such presence.

Mello wasn't like that at all now. Near wasn't captivated anymore. Just saddened.

If he was being honest with himself, Near was a bit disappointed in Mello. He'd known before, of course, that Mello had idolized L. He knew that Mello was wrapped up in L, on levels both platonic and levels decidedly not. Near understood this, but he still found the complete turn around in Mello's personality excessive and faintly embarrassing. Yes, L had left. But was it really an occurrence that warranted such a momentous change? Did it warrant the refusal of past enjoyments, the refusal of meals?

Mello should be stronger than that. The way he was acting now, it gave L such _power. _It meant that L had only to leave Wammy's for a few months in order to change Mello inside and out. Turn him into something completely antithetical to what he was. It meant that Mello was _dependent_ on L for his whole being.

Surely Mello was smart enough to see what he was doing. But he continued anyway! To Near, it was galling, sickening. He wouldn't let himself be changed that way. Near would carry on with his life. He would play with his toys and attend to his schooling, in just the same way that he had while L was still at Wammy's. No way would Near let L's presence, or lack thereof, dictate his actions or feelings. It was bad enough that he was currently letting it dictate his thoughts.

Enough of this. Near would spend his remaining time alone constructing a model or two, and then he would go down to dinner, and then to sleep. No more consideration of things he couldn't change.

Near fell to his hands and knees, scanning the floor of his room in search of supplies for his model airplane. Where had he put them? Near was so organized, so compartmentalized in his thought. Why was he incapable of being so orderly in storing his toys?

As he was searching, and making plans for an efficient system of keeping his things tidy, Near came across of sheet of paper lying on the floor in front of his door. It was bright white, unrumpled, without creases. Had Near been so caught up in thought that he hadn't noticed it when he came in? Apparently so...

When Near picked up the paper, he saw that it was a letter. Addressed to him, in what he recognized as Roger's elegant handwriting. Roger never left Near letters...what was this about?

Halfway through his reading, Near realized that perhaps his plans for the rest of day would have to wait.

***

"I'm sorry that I couldn't just come and collect you from your room directly, Near." Roger said, pouring milk into his tea. "But I thought that my appearance there would attract too much attention. I left the letter in the hopes that it would be a more covert way of communicating."

Near nodded. He'd assumed as much.

"Are you sure you won't take any tea?" asked Roger. "There is plenty."

"I'm fine." Near told him. He hoped he didn't sound defensive.

This was a lot to deal with, though. For the first time in a long time, Near wondered if he was really capable.

Roger sighed tiredly. "I'm sorry to put this on your shoulders, Near, but he seems insistent. I told him that it's really a staff member's place..."

As if Roger, or anyone else, could dissuade the man of anything once he made up his mind to do it.

Near wondered if he ought to ask for advice on what to say. Were there assurances he should give? Were there things he should leave out?

Roger seemed to sense his hesitancy. "Just...tell him the truth, I suppose." he said. "He'll only discover it later if we try to shield him from anything."

Roger stood up from his chair, taking his tea with him to the door.

"The phone on the desk there," he said, gesturing to it, "will ring in a few minutes' time. When it does, answer. He will be on the other line."

"Alright."

"Thank you, Near." Roger said, opening the door. "I appreciate you doing this."

He turned to look at Near over his shoulder, watching him with interest, and something like sympathy. After a moment or so, Roger nodded formally to him. Then he left.

Near sat in the office alone, then, thinking about what he would say. Roger told him to tell the truth. The truth was a funny thing, though. It was one thing to know, one thing to understand. Quite another to tell.

Then a shrill ring broke the silence. Near didn't have time to consider anymore. It was time.

He reached across the desk, taking hold of the handset. The phone was an older model, cordless, a dull tan color. It looked inadequate to transmit the voice of someone so influential.

Near held the phone against his cheek, wondering what greeting to use. Eventually he settled on something simple, classic.

"Hello?"

"Hello, Near. It's been a long time."

"Yes." said Near into the receiver. "Yes, L. It has."

"How have you been getting on?" L asked. "Since last we spoke?"

Well, for the past sixteen months or so since you disappeared without a trace, I've been doing splendidly, L. Waiting for your return, policing my own thoughts. Watching Mello kill himself over your absence. How about yourself?

"I've been fine."

"That is good to hear." L's voice spoke into his ear. "I'm sure you know, though, that the reason I'm calling is not to exchange pleasantries."

Yes, Near knew that. "You want to know how Mello is coping thus far."

"Mmm." said L. "Roger tells me that he is eating again."

"Only through the active intervention of the teachers," said Near. _And through the active intervention of myself_, he didn't say.

Near waited a few seconds, but there was only silence on the other end. Since L seemed to be in the rare mood to listen, he decided to continue.

"Mello's eating is not the real problem. It is only a manifestation of something larger."

Near realized that he now had the opportunity to persuade L to come back. If he had to guilt the man into it, then so be it.

"Mello is not refusing food or games or _life_ for no reason. He is not doing so for attention and his is not simply experiencing the moody throes of puberty. He is not just sad. He's depressed, L. Because of _you_."

Near's words were again met with silence.

"It's been over a year, and things are not getting better. If anything, they are getting worse. Mello eats, yes. But he also sits silently for hours at a time. He stares out of windows, watching the world beyond without venturing out into it. He never _yells_ anymore. I can't tell you how long it's been since I've seen him throw a tantrum. Mello's become completely different since you left, L. If you don't come back, he's going to slip away."

Finally, Near heard L's voice respond. He could hear L's regret as clearly as the words he spoke. "I never thought that he would react so badly...not for so long."

"L," Near said. This was the part he need to say, but doing so would be difficult. "I believe I know why you left. Your intentions were good. It was honorable, what you were trying to do."

And now it came, the real message Near had to give.

"But _it's not working_. You have to forget about it. You have to come back to Wammy's, if only because the problem won't _exist_ if you stay away much longer trying to avoid it."

"How can this be?" L asked, with a faint sigh. Did he really expect Near to have an answer?

"I suppose that there is nothing for it, then." L said a few moments later. "The best laid plans..."

Near didn't know what to say. He suddenly felt like he should be apologizing, though why or what for he couldn't say.

"I will be on the next plane to England." L said. "Will you and Mello meet with me when I come back tomorrow?"

What kind of question was that? Mello would be beside himself to hear of L's return to Wammy's. And how was Near himself to ever say no?

"Of course, L." said Near. "We will be here."

This time, the sigh in L's voice was prominent indeed. "Thank you...there are many things I need to explain, it seems. I only hope that its not too late..."

***

Mello was smiling, for the first time in recent memory.

At one time, Near would have found his happiness reason to feel jealously toward L. But not now. If L could make Mello better, it was fine. Near could accept that, and without complaint.

"What time did you say his plane was landing?" Mello asked. He was fairly quivering with excitement.

Near had answered this question at least three times over the course of an hour. "L's plane lands at twelve minutes past five in the evening, Mello." he said. "I'm almost certain that the arrival projection has not changed within the past twenty minutes. If it had, I was not informed."

Mello shrugged off his words. "And what time is it now?"

"Three minutes and forty-four seconds have elapsed since the last time you asked. It is now thirty-two minutes past six."

Mello stood on his tiptoes, peering out across the front yard and past the gates. "Ok, so, if he arrived on schedule, and Mr. Wammy picked him up directly after, they should be driving back right now. They should be getting back any second."

Mello and Near were waiting on the front steps of the mansion (Mello, because he wanted to see L as soon as was humanly possible and Near because he was charged with watching over Mello). Near scanned the horizon, not because he was particularly eager for L's return, but because he was supremely bored with waiting.

Suddenly, Mello emitted a sound not unlike a squeal.

Near could see a black luxury car rolling to a stop in front of a gates. The outline of an elderly man stepped out of the driver's side before opening them, then returned to the car and turned into the dirt path between the iron bars.

"He's here!" Mello shouted, and he shot down the lane.

Near sighed. He'd better follow, he supposed. Mello might do some drastic, like run in front of the hood or something.

When Near had caught up to him, the car came to a stop about halfway down the path, and before he knew it, L was stepping out of the rear passenger door.

He looked so much the same, it was as if he had never really aged at all, though Near knew it was impossible for him not to have. His clothes were just the same white sweater and blue jeans they'd been a year before. He hadn't gotten any taller. The only difference that Near could see was that L's hair was slightly longer than it had been before, then ends brushing the collar of his shirt.

Mello didn't seem to care about any changes or lack thereof in L's appearance. As soon as L was outside the car, he launched himself at the man, wrapping his arms around his waist and burying his face into L's stomach.

Near didn't feel envious or angry at the sight, though upon reflection he thought that he should have. He instead felt as though he shouldn't even be witnessing it all, as though his presence was unwarranted, an encroachment on something he couldn't name.

But then L looked up from where he was softly stroking the top of Mello's head and held one arm out to his side, beckoning Near to him.

And when Near came to stand next to Mello and hug L as well, it no longer felt like he encroaching on something. It felt like he had found his place in it.

***

The three of them eventually found themselves in L's office, in which neither Near nor Mello had set foot during the time that L had been away. Near thought it smelt slightly different than he remembered, probably from the lack of cake and strawberries and tea that had usually scented the room.

Instead of taking his old position at the desk, L sat on the floor between Near and Mello's chairs. L's sitting habits had remained much the same as his dress; his knees were held to his chest, toes rubbing against each restlessly.

This of course meant that Near would be looking _down_ at L when he spoke. In all their meetings before, he and Mello would have to look up at him from some place below. The shift in perspective was a little jarring. It would take some getting used to.

"I'm sure you're both wondering where I've been all this time."

Mello nodded vigorously. Near tipped his head in agreement.

"It would be easier to say where I _haven't_ been, actually." L said. "I spent a bit of time in America, some weeks in Australia, a few in China. There was one case in India that was particularly interesting, remind me to describe it to you later."

L looked from one of them to the other as he spoke, a small smile tugging at the corners of his lips.

"I can say, though, that even traveling to all the places that I did, I never once stopped missing England, missing this place. I wanted to return everyday."

"Was there something really secret that you were working on, L?" Mello asked. "Is that why you couldn't tell us where you were?"

L looked down at his hands at that. He gave a heavy sigh, and didn't say anything for long moments.

Near thought he knew some of what was running through L's mind at that moment, even though one could never be exactly sure with him. _How much do I say? How can I bring myself to lie? But what truth can I give that won't dig the hole any deeper?_

Near felt an abrupt wave of sympathy for L's position. The man had done so much, was _still_ doing so much. And now he had to give some kind of explanation for it all. It never ended, did it?

L really was a noble human being, though one would never know it to look at him. He did things, sacrificed himself, to spare others' what unhappiness he could. And then he did it secretly, on top of that.

L hid his nobility, and that was maybe the thing that made him more noble than anything else.

"I'm sorry, Mello." L finally said. "But I can't tell you my reasons for hiding my whereabouts. I left with a purpose in mind, but I can't tell you what that purpose was. I thought I was doing something good, but nothing good came out all my planning and effort, in the end. To speak my motivations would only exacerbate the problem I was trying to solve."

"I want you both to know that it was never my intention to hurt either of you. I thought that if you _were _upset, the feeling wouldn't last more than a few weeks. I never thought that my absence would cause you so much pain. Especially you, Mello."

L was still watching his hands, so he didn't notice, but Near saw that Mello's eyes were welling precariously with tears. The sight terrified him. There were many things in which Near excelled, but giving comfort to a crying person was not one of them.

"When I heard of your suffering, I thought it would ease with time. I refused to see it for what it was. But my stubbornness could not win in the face of such overwhelming evidence, and I eventually saw that things would not abate while I remained away."

Mello was taking deep, shuddering breaths. His eyes were still shiny, but thankfully, the tears did not fall.

"I didn't forget about the two of you while I was gone." L said. "I still kept up with what you were doing. I knew what classes you were taking, probably before you yourselves knew. I've never once lost track of your progress in school, never lost track of your grades or standings. They are just as impressive as they were when I left."

"I won't say that I'm sorry for leaving, since I made the decision to go after careful thought, with the intention of doing what I thought was right. An apology is made to express regret for one's choices, and I don't regret the choice I made. I won't apologize for it."

L paused again. Then he said:

"I only wish that I was as wise as most of the world seems to think I am. If I were, all of this could have been avoided."

L looked up from his hands to see Mello and Near.

"But for all my shortcomings," he said. "I am still capable of learning from my mistakes. I promise, from now on, not to run from the two of you when there is a problem. If I must leave for so long again, it will not be choice but necessity that keeps me away."

And looking into L's eyes, Near saw that it was true.

***

_Ah, reunions. _

_I confess to shedding a tear or two during the writing of this chapter. Mello (and Near, though he won't admit it) missed L, and so did I. It's good to have him back. _

_I feel happy with this chapter overall, but what do you guys think? Feel free to tell me if someone's acting out of character, or if the pacing is too fast or too slow, whatever. Criticism is cool, I can take it. Of course, if things were great for you, feel free to tell me that too. :D_

_See you next chapter, and thanks again for reading!_

_- Magic_


	9. Focusing Distraction

_Author's Note: _

_Ok guys. So last week was murder. Studying for final exams kind of made me a crazy person, and it soon became clear that this chapter would have to wait. Sorry I couldn't get it in yesterday, Real Life (not school) took over. But! The wait is over now! *cheers* _

_It was horrible, having to wait to write this one. When I finally got the time to sit down and do it, the words just flowed. I think I had more fun writing this chapter than any I've written so far. And that is saying something, let me tell you. :)_

_Also, I give full credit to __**Brat-Child3**__ for one of the scenes found in this chapter. It should have appeared in the last one, and when she described it in a review, I had to ask permission to include it in this one. She was kind enough to say yes and selfless enough to say that I didn't need to give her credit for the scene, but I just have to, because the scene is brilliant and so is she. So thank you bunches __**Brat-Child3**__! *hugs* _

***

Chapter Nine - Focusing Distraction

"_All charming people, I fancy, are spoiled. It is the secret of their attraction."_

_- Oscar Wilde_

There was someone knocking on Mello's door.

There was someone knocking on Mello's door, and this was a problem.

This was a problem because it was six in the morning and Mello was still asleep (or at least in that wonderful fuzzy half-stage).

The knocking wasn't particularly annoying in itself. Actually, if it had come at any other time, Mello might have thought it sounded pleasant. It came in the form of two short taps, the second identical to the one that came before it. There was none of that horrific "creative" knocking that Matt sometimes liked to use, the kind that mimicked popular songs. _Dum-da-da-dum-dum, da-da_. This knock was soft and polite.

Although, it _was_ awfully insistent.

Mello rolled over in his bed. Maybe if he...just ignored them...whoever it was would go away. Mello had been awake studying until two o'clock last night. Now was certainly not the time for waking.

But just as Mello was snuggling down into his covers once again, two more soft knocks rapped against his door.

"Argh!" Mello shouted into his pillow. "It's too bloody early! Go away!"

There. He'd said that in his best Listen-To-Me-Or-Else voice. Now it was time...for a little...more sleep..._wonderful_ sleep...

"It is never too early for a detective's training to begin, Mello," came a voice from outside. "I trust you agree with me."

Good God...it couldn't be...! Mello shot out of bed faster than he ever had before. He scrambled to his door and yanked it open.

As unlikely as it seemed, there was L, standing calmly in the door frame. He had a bag of gumdrops in his left hand and was popping them into his mouth one after another with his right.

"Good morning, Mello." said L, between bites. "Sleep well?"

It was then that Mello realized, in addition to L's presence outside his bedroom door, there was something else deeply out of the ordinary here. Namely, that Mello was standing before L in nothing but the underwear he slept in.

Admittedly, they were boxer shorts. And admittedly, there was nothing Mello had that L hadn't (presumably) seen before.

But still, Mello could feel his face lighting up in a spectacular blush.

Mother of God, it was horrible. Mello was acting like a child when he should be playing the part of a mature almost-teenager. If L had been meeting a _friend_ outside their bedroom door, Mello was sure that that friend's face wouldn't go red at the thought of being seen half-dressed first thing in the morning. They would say hello, probably a bit sleepily, but still in a very calm and collected fashion. And here was Mello, being the farthest thing from cool and collected and the closest thing to embarrassed little kid.

L seemed to notice Mello's self-consciousness. He paused in his gumdrop-popping to scratch the back of his neck, averting his eyes.

"Ah," L said. "I'll...wait outside while you get dressed."

Then, one of L's pale hands reached toward him, and Mello felt his heart rate fly into the stratosphere. Surely...surely, there was no way...

But then Mello realized that L's hand was veering slightly to his right. L was aiming for the door handle, not Mello himself.

"Dress warmly." L said, and then he pulled the door closed between them.

Mello stood staring at the oak panelling after it shut, his mind going almost completely blank. The same three words kept running across his brain: What just happened?

Then Mello shook himself out of his torpor and began calling himself stupid in every language he knew. Of _course _L wasn't going to...honestly...

But Mello had always been excitable where L was concerned. Mello's emotions remained at the surface whenever L was around, and had done ever since they'd met. That tendency had not abated with L's year-long absence. If anything, it had grown. Mello couldn't hide what he was feeling then, his depression and lassitude, and he couldn't hide it when L returned either. Why, just hearing the news had sent Mello into a very obvious fit of joy...

"_Mello?" Near asked, poking his head into Mello's room. "There's something we have to discuss." _

_Mello sighed. He pushed his homework into one corner of his desk and turned in his chair to face Near. _

"_What is it?" Mello asked wearily. "Please don't tell me you've come to lecture me again. I really can't hear that right now."_

_Near stepped inside, closing the door behind him. _

"_I'm not going to lecture you...though it's not because I think I shouldn't." he said, one hand coming up to his temple to twist in his hair. "This news might make any lectures unnecessary, anyway." _

_At those words, Mello's ears perked up a bit. "What's going on?" _

_Near stood silently for a second or two. His eyes searched Mello's face, a small crease appearing between his eyebrows. Then Near pressed his lips together, huffing a small sigh through his nose. _

"_L's coming back." he said._

_Mello felt his jaw drop. Why...How..._

"_Near, if I find out -" he began, but Near interrupted. _

"_I assure you, Mello, this isn't a joke. I spoke with him just today. He's taking the next plane back to England. He'll be here tomorrow." _

_Mello went absolutely still, watching Near with all his attention. _

_Then, without warning, Mello rocketed out of his chair and flew at Near. He wrapped his arms around the boy and crowing happily, "He's coming back! He's coming back!" _

_Near patted Mello's back once, then gently and firmly removed himself from the embrace. _

"_Yes, Mello." he said. "Yes, he is." _

What was Mello doing, thinking about this? He ought to be getting dressed! L was waiting!

It should be illegal for a person to be so keyed up so early in the morning, Mello thought. All this stress before noon was going to drive him mad. He turned to his dresser and pulled out pants and a shirt, yanking both on as fast as he could. He looked at his reflection in the mirror and let out a gasp of horror, then searched frantically for a comb. L had seen him with his hair looking positively _atrocious_...

After Mello stuffed his feet into a pair of shoes, he threw himself out into the hall, looking for L and hoping that he wouldn't mind having had to wait. Mello found him leaning against the wall to the right, eating gumdrops once again and staring out the window opposite.

Mello started over towards him and L turned. "Ready?" he asked.

Mello nodded.

"Good," said L. "We just have to stop by Near's room and then we'll be off."

Hey, thought Mello. Off? Off where? L was taking he and Near someplace? But there was no time to ponder the matter any further; L had already set off down the hall.

L came to a stop in front of the last door on the right. It took Mello a while to catch up to him, since L's long legs carried him much faster than Mello's could. When he did, L's fist was raised against the wood, knocking on Near's door the same way he had Mello's.

It was not more than ten seconds later that the door opened and Near was revealed in the frame. If he had been sleeping, there was no evidence of it at all. Near looked just the way he always did: eerily composed and observant.

"Hello, L," Near said politely. "Hello, Mello."

Mello was instantly annoyed. Why did Near have to act like nothing unexpected ever happened to him? Like he could foresee everything under the sun, even when it was quite clear that meeting L outside your door was something that didn't happen everyday?

"Good morning, Near." said L. "Are you ready to leave?"

Mello could hear the hint of a smile in L's voice as he spoke. Was L happy that Near was prompt and prepared where Mello wasn't? Maybe L was just happy to see Near. But then, L hadn't smiled when he'd greeted Mello...

"Yes," replied Near. He bent to pick up a robot that was lying on the floor next to him, then stepped out of his room and closed the door behind him.

"If the both of you would follow me, please." L said, leading them to the staircase.

The three of them descended, finally coming to the first floor of the mansion. Mello was surprised to find that L wasn't turning right, toward the backyard or the library or the dining room, but was instead turning left. That must mean that they were...leaving Wammy's.

Sure enough, L came to the French doors at the front of the mansion and pulled them open, letting in a flash of sunlight. Mello saw him take a deep breath, his shoulders rising and falling, before turning to face him and Near.

"I realize that this is unexpected, but I found myself craving pastry from a particular shop downtown and thought that the two of you could join me. I haven't been back very long, after all, and it could be the perfect opportunity for a lesson in profiling."

Mello smiled. It was always exciting to leave Wammy's for trips, and this one sounded especially fun. What could be better than detective work with L away from the orphanage?

"_Cool_." said Mello happily. Near nodded his agreement.

"Good." L said. "Mr. Wammy is out, so we'll be taking the Phantom."

He led Mello and Near to the circle drive in front of the mansion, where a sleek black sedan was parked. Mello had never been overly interested in cars, but even to his inexperienced eyes, the vehicle looked like a dream. It was shined brilliantly in the sunlight, the chrome edges and side mirrors gleaming. The thing looked like something out of a 1920s film noir.

L climbed into the driver's seat, looking less out of place than Mello thought he should. He busied himself with adjusting mirrors and making minute changes to the steering wheel.

Mello and Near remained on the steps, goggling.

"It's unlocked," L called.

Mello scrambled over, then, determined to get the front passenger seat. As it turned out, though, he didn't have to fight for it. Near went straight for the backseat.

When they were settled in, L turned the key in the ignition and the engine revved to life. He grinned and ran his hands over the dashboard appreciatively. Did L have an affinity for cars, as well as guns?

And then they were off, and Mello began to wonder if there was anything L _couldn't_ do well. He drove with perfect composure and self-assurance, always accelerating steadily and stopping gently. Gripping the steering wheel lightly but with complete control. Dressed as he was, L didn't seem like the type of person that should be comfortable handling a vehicle that was worth more than the average Britain's house, but somehow he did. He looked more than comfortable, actually...he looked...

Mello tried to stop it, but he found that he was powerless. His mind had traveled to the one area that Mello wished it wouldn't: the dream he'd had last December.

That had been six months ago, and Mello still remembered perfectly. The picture of himself, naked in a bed with Near and L on either side of him, seemed to have been burned into his brain. It would spring into his thoughts at the slightest provocation, much to Mello's frustration.

Mello had been panicked when he'd awoken from that dream. He tried to rationalize it at first, telling himself that it was fine for someone going through puberty to have dreams that were sexual in nature. It was perfectly normal, Mello said to himself. In fact, it would be strange if he _didn't_.

But that explanation was flawed for a variety of reasons, the most obvious ones being that it was not normal for adolescent boys to dream about _other boys_. And then there was the added strangeness of _which_ boys Mello was dreaming about. Not one of his close friends, as would be expected, but Near and L, his rival and his...teacher? Mentor? Detective-for-which-he-might-someday-take-over?

It was beyond weird, and Mello was dismayed to find that the weirdness didn't end there. The dream he'd had was not a singular occurrence but was instead the first of many. Since that December, two weeks hadn't gone by without Mello waking up in the middle of the night, pictures of L stripping off his clothes and kissing him, touching him in places no one ever had before running past his closed eyes. In the dreams, Near was always there, though he never laid a hand on Mello. Usually, he didn't even look at Mello, just stared at L throughout.

Near's presence was even weirder than L's, Mello thought. At least L was a person he respected, someone that he idealized. Mello was trying to _become_ L, after all. Maybe the L in his dreams was symbolic of Mello's desire to be number one. Near, on the other hand, had no place in Mello's subconscious. Near was Mello's rival, his competition in all things. Mello had no particularly warm feelings for Near, and as far as Mello could tell, Near was completely neutral towards him too. Why should Near appear in the dreams as well?

Mello avoided thinking about the dreams whenever he could. Not because they worried him or made him upset, but because they confused him. Mello couldn't fathom why his unconscious should torment him that way. So he put the matter out of his mind.

But seeing L as he was now, it was impossible for Mello think about anything else. L was so focused, so intent and in control...it reminded Mello of other things...things Mello had only seen L do inside his head...

Mello's mind was so clouded, he almost jumped out of his skin when L announced, "We're here."

They had come to a busy street, with cars parallel-parked along the curb on both ends. People strolled up and down the sidewalk, pulling toddlers along by the hand and pushing strollers or talking into cell phones. The street was lined with small businesses, some store windows advertising clothes or furniture or checking accounts. L parked in front of a shop with a picture of a teacup painted on its front window, the word _Joanna's_ emblazoned across it.

Mello and Near followed L into the shop. When they entered, a little bell above the door jingled and proclaimed their presence. Then several things happened.

One of the waitresses at the counter exclaimed, "Mr. Johnson!" in a very high-pitched, solicitous tone of voice, and Mello thought that whoever Mr. Johnson was, he must be quite popular here.

But then Mello found himself ushered to a large, round table in the back of the shop. Menus and cutlery and napkins and glasses of water were given to him, others to Near and L. No less than three waitress crowded around their table, asking eagerly if they required anything.

The cacophony only stopped when L interjected, "The usual, please. And two black teas."

Mello realized who Mr. Johnson was.

The waitresses smiled and hastened away. Then Near turned to L and asked, "Is it normal to be waited on in a tea shop?"

It was hard to tell with Near, but Mello rather thought that he actually sounded impressed.

L shrugged. Mello noticed that he was sitting up straighter, his feet on the ground. Was better posture a part of the "Mr. Johnson" identity?

"Not usually, I suppose." L said. "But I've found that regular patronage seems to have that effect in some places."

"Why did you give them a name to call you?" Near asked.

L shrugged again. "It became tiresome, after a while, to be called 'sir' over and over again. Johnson was the first name that came into my head."

When L's order arrived, Mello could see why the staff of Joanna's was so attentive to him. Their table was filled with confectionary: coffee cakes and Danish and pastries crowded each other across the top. A huge plate of donuts dominated the center. There was hardly room for the teacups.

"Take whatever you like," L said. He reached for his teacup and took a long sip.

Mello was starving. He'd missed breakfast, after all, and there was a iced biscuit calling his name. Near took the coffee cake closest to him, taking a bite of it with only cursory attention.

"Now then," said L, selecting a donut from the very top of the stack. "So that I can tell myself this trip was at least partially business-related, and not my own weakness for Joanna's sweets..."

Mello was excited. L had mentioned profiling before, and Mello had always been interested in reading people. It was easy enough to discern a person's motivations and even a good portion of their history with a conversation or two, of course. There were only a few people that Mello couldn't understand after speaking to them. What Mello really wanted, though, was the ability to understand a person with just a glance.

"This is the perfect time to practice criminal profiling. Most of the people here are business executives, picking up their morning tea or coffee. The population is small, and relatively homogeneous, so you can easily focus on details of a person's appearance that indicate personality or habits, those things unrelated to their occupation. It's unlikely that anyone here is a criminal professionally..."

L scanned the shop, doing it obviously enough to seem like he was searching for a waitress or the restroom but surreptitiously enough to remain inconspicuous.

"I'd like each of you to choose the person most likely to be guilty of...we will say embezzlement." L said. He took a bite of his donut, chewing thoughtfully.

"How you make your decision is entirely up to you," he said after swallowing. "The only constraint is that you must make your choice within the next two minutes. Begin."

Mello instantly started his search. Embezzlement...embezzlement...he needed someone who looked greedy, someone materialistic...someone who wasn't content with what they had.

There was a man standing at the counter who looked promising. He was wearing expensive clothes, that meant that he was at least somewhat materialistic, cared about appearances...he was tapping his foot impatiently, that could indicate a sense of entitlement...

Mello noticed something enter his peripheral vision, something with a puff of messy black hair. What was L doing?

At first, Mello thought he was simply eating his donut, as he had been doing earlier. But now that Mello was looking closely, he found that L wasn't _eating_ the donut so much as...

So much as licking it.

The sight was strangely mesmerizing. Mello watched as L's tongue dragged down the outside edge of the donut, bringing with it some of the icing that coated the treat. Then L pulled the donut away and closed his mouth. He closed his eyes and smiled, clearly savoring the flavor. And then it was back to step number one, and L licked the thing again.

Mello had a job to do! Why was he sitting here watching L licking something sweet?

Okay, profiling. People who looked like they could be guilty of embezzlement. There was a woman, there. She had an expensive-looking handbag and a way of carrying herself that belied great arrogance...maybe...

Good God! There he went again! This time it was chocolate-covered donut. Why couldn't L eat like a normal person?

At the rate things were going, Mello would have no answer for who in Joanna's was most likely to steal and nothing to show for his effort but the sweat breaking out along his hairline. Near would beat him for sure. Mello didn't think that the distraction caused by L's donut-licking would be a viable excuse for failure.

"Thirty seconds." L spoke calmly, and Mello resolutely turned to the customers surrounding him. He had to find someone! Quick!

Oh but this was almost worst. Instead of seeing L, now Mello could only hear him. Mello had read somewhere that lacking sight made the other senses sharper, and it seemed to be true. The sound of that tongue scratching along a crystallized surface...the swallows L kept making when he took a bite...what could Mello do?

"Time." L said, finally setting down his food.

Of course. Stop licking things the second that doing so won't help Mello in any way.

"I choose the man standing next to the door." said Near. "He made a show of accepting the apology of someone who bumped into him, which makes me think that he has a reasonable capacity for self-importance. He has no friends or family with him, which might mean nothing, or might mean the man is exceedingly selfish. More than anyone else here, he seems capable of hurting others for his own gain."

"Very well," answered L. "Mello? Whom did you pick?"

"The woman in black, over at that table in the corner." Mello blurted. "She has an expensive purse and she looks...proud."

L glanced over to look at her, nodding thoughtfully.

Mello's explanation wasn't half as thought-out as Near's had been, but Mello couldn't focus on that then. Because that was when it hit him. The reason that Mello paid so much attention to L, why he couldn't keep his eyes off him. Those dreams were no accidents, nor were they just Mello's way of reacting to L's extended absence. The dreams were nothing more and nothing less than a manifestation of the feelings that Mello had been cultivating for L since meeting him.

Mello didn't want to _be_ L. Not as much as he wanted to be _with _him.

It was both terrifying and inspiring to consider. All these months, Mello had actively avoided thinking about L in a sexual context, for fear that he would stumble upon just this realization. But instead of him coming to understand his feelings himself, Mello's understanding had been thrust upon him, by nothing less than L eating a pastry. And instead of feeling angry or confused or resentful of himself, Mello found that he was in almost complete peace. It felt like he was coming to understanding a bit more of himself.

Mello had feelings for L. Romantic feelings, sexual feelings. This was the truth, and that at least was comforting.

"I think that this is enough for today, then," said L, standing up from his chair. "If you're both ready, we'll go back home."

Mello nodded, Near along with him, and they followed L out of the shop.

During the ride back to Wammy's, Mello found that he couldn't focus on L and Near's conversation or on the trees rushing past his window or on the light classical playing through the speakers.

The only things Mello was concerned with were his own feelings. His own feelings, and what to do about them.

***

_Ah, L. Such a good character. _Such _a good character. I confess I have a bit of fetish for him manning heavy machinery. Like, the helicopter scene in canon just kills me. Driving a car is only one step away. XD_

_Also, the donut-licking is totally canon. You can Google image "L death note donut" to check it out. _

_Liked it? Hated it? Think that these guys just need to go to bed together already? I'd love to hear your thoughts. :)_

_Ooh! I saw L: Change the World this week as well, so if any of you watched it too and want to discuss that as well, let me know. I thought it was brilliant. XD_


	10. Assisted Understanding

_Author's Note: _

_This chapter is epic. Like, originally I'd planned to have the events that occur here play out over the course of three chapters. I decided to compress them into one, though, so...yeah. Lots of things going on. :) _

_I think readers will appreciate this one. The true heart of the story starts here. *is excited* And I'm quite proud of this chapter, if I do say so myself. I don't know what was up, but something was working overtime in my head as I was writing. :)_

_Enjoy!_

***

Chapter Ten - Assisted Understanding

"_...For I know not how it came, nor when it began; but crept, crept it has..."_

_- Samuel Richardson_

Near was quite enjoying his alone time. For these few hours, he could do nothing that he didn't want to do and everything that he did. Near often thought that he was lucky that the things that made him happiest were things that were easily accessible. Books were readily available in Wammy's House. So were toys and puzzles. That was all Near wanted, and so he was content. It would be unfortunate if, instead of knowledge and games, all Near wanted to do was skydive...

Near was working with blocks again today, building skyscrapers. He liked to see how high they could go before becoming unstable and falling away.

He had one at waist height when there came a knock on his door.

"Enter," Near called, still building.

The door opened to reveal Mello, shuffling his feet and looking around uncertainly.

"Near..." Mello said, biting his lip. He looked uncharacteristically reluctant...usually Mello charged headlong into things, giving very little thought to the consequences.

Near's mind immediately began firing off possible reasons for his hesitancy. Was Mello having trouble with something? Classes, perhaps? Trouble with some kind of depression again? He seemed to be moving past that fairly quickly since L returned...

"Near..." Mello began again. "Can I...talk to you about something?"

Near nodded. He pushed aside the pile of blocks before him, making a space for Mello to sit.

Mello closed the door behind himself. He came into the clearing that Near had made, crossing his legs at the ankle and sinking down onto the floor, Indian style. He didn't meet Near's eyes, looking instead at the floor between them. His brows were furrowed deeply.

Near waited. It seemed that Mello had something of great importance on his mind. Asking him to spit it out might only make him more uncertain.

Still gazing at the floor, Mello frowned and shook his head, as though he was trying to dislodge a particularly unpleasant thought.

Taking a deep breath, he finally said, "I need your advice."

Near was instantly uncomfortable. Anything worrisome enough to drive Mello to ask for Near's help could not be something easily solved. In fact, Near felt it was safe to assume that he would be troubled greatly by whatever it was.

"I see." Near replied, resigned. "Concerning?"

Mello sighed. He shook his head, turning to look out the window.

This was getting tiresome. Mello wanted to talk to Near, so why wasn't he talking? Near was patient, as a general rule. He could wait out most anything. That was when waiting would not interfere with other, more enjoyable activities, however. Near didn't have endless hours of free time (much as he sometimes wished he did) and watching Mello refuse to speak was not very high on his list of pleasant pastimes.

Just as Near was about to prompt Mello to explain himself again, though, Mello abruptly turned away from the window to face him.

"The whole thing is completely ridiculous!" Mello exclaimed suddenly. "It's insane! I must be out of my mind!"

Near wasn't sure that really explained anything, but listening to this was far better than listening to silence.

"Honestly!" Mello continued, standing up again. He began pacing to and fro in front of Near, looking like something caged. "I mean, I've only just turned twelve! It makes no sense!"

Near made a small "hmm" sound. He thought that Mello was being unnecessarily dramatic. Although...drama, necessary or otherwise, had always been a substantial part of Mello's character.

"I can't _believe_ I'm doing this. But then, how can I not? I'll die! I know it!"

Near felt compelled to end Mello's tirade. They would never get anywhere if this continued, and Near really did need his playtime. He became truly unbearable without it...

"Mello," he said. "Do calm down. Sit. Explain."

Mello stopped in his pacing, blinking rapidly. He seemed to have forgotten that Near was even in the room.

"Right." he said vaguely, almost to himself. "Right. I'll just...sit. Right."

He sat down again, still looking a bit lost. He watched Near with unseeing eyes.

"Now," said Near, speaking as crisply as he ever did. "Explain. Why did you feel the need to seek out my advice?"

"I..." Mello began. He seemed to be coming back to himself somewhat. "I...I don't really know...well, I mean...This is really weird. I can't believe I'm asking you about this..."

Near was losing his tolerance for this. Mello really needed to explain himself, preferably in full sentences and preferably within the next hour.

"The thing is..." said Mello. "Well, I...I don't really...I don't really know..."

"What, Mello? What don't you know?"

"Oh bloody hell. Fine!" Mello said, reverting, seemingly on a dime, back to his ranting. "Here it is: I don't really know L that well and I want you to tell me about him. There, I said it! Satisfied?"

There had been exactly two moments in Near's life when he had felt completely dumbfounded. Once when he was four and another time when he was seven. Now, at ten years of age, this might well be the third.

Mello was glaring at him, as though Near was to blame for his predicament. His arms were folded over his chest, legs shoulder width apart. He looked defensive. Looked ready for a fight.

What was Near supposed to say? Mello wanted advice...about L? He wanted Near to tell him about the man? But...

"But Mello," Near said. "You already know L. You've known him for years now. Why do you need me to tell you about him?"

Mello's whole body seemed to deflate at this question. He unfolded his arms and slumped, shoulders rounded.

"Because I don't _know_ him. Not really. Not the way you do." he said.

Near boggled. He didn't much enjoy feeling confused, and Mello seemed determined to make him so.

Mello took one look at Near's expression and rolled his eyes.

"Come on, Near." he said. "I know you don't pay attention to other human beings, but really. You must know this, if nothing else."

Near must have persisted looking baffled. Mello huffed out an exasperated breath and continued.

"You _understand_ L. You get him, I can see it. Sometimes he says something, and you nod, like you had the very same thought. You look at him and I can see the understanding in your eyes. You guys are on the same wavelength, or you're naturally attuned to each other or something. You must be aware of it."

In truth, Near really wasn't. He could guess at some of the reasons behind L's actions, certainly. He occasionally understood what L meant by a look, or a cryptic comment. But he didn't feel as though he really understood L, not the way that Mello meant. L was a mystery, essentially. Near doubted he even understood himself.

"Mello...I don't think..."

"Near, I may not memorize atomic orbital configurations as fast as you, but I _can_ see people. I can see people, and I can see how they relate to each other. That's where _I _will always win. And I know that you understand L. I know you're closer to L than anyone else."

Near didn't know how to respond. He had really never given the subject any thought. Maybe he did understand L. Maybe not. He would have to give the matter more consideration to decide.

"Why do you care about this, Mello?" Near asked. "Whether I understand L or not, why does it matter?"

"I've already told you." said Mello. "I want you to tell me about him."

"But _why_?"

Mello was back to watching the ground instead of Near. He sighed. "Because I want to understand...I want to understand L the way you do."

On the surface, the words were wholly innocuous. Mello simply wanted to understand L better. Near admitted, it did seem wrong to know someone for nearly four years and still feel as though they were a stranger. But there was something in the way that Mello said the words that made Near question Mello's motivations.

Mello sounded...he sounded guilty.

There were two reasons Near could see to explain this. The first was that Mello was guilty for something that had already happened. He could simply be ashamed for feeling so strongly about L while knowing virtually nothing of the man's true self. It must feel horrible, Near supposed, to want someone that way and feel as though someone else understood them in a way that you couldn't.

The second reason...Mello felt guilty for something that hadn't happened yet but would happen in the future. But what could that something be? Mello was coming to Near, seemingly to gather information. In preparation for something? But the only that Near could imagine Mello preparing for was...No. No, surely not.

"Mello, I don't know if I am really qualified to explain L to you." Near said. "But you seem certain that I am, so perhaps its true. I'll listen to your questions...but don't assume that I have any confidence in the answers."

Mello nodded. "I'm half certain that you're only pretending to doubt yourself. It's so _obvious_ that you know him. But whatever, if you'll help me, that's all that matters. There's really only a few things I really need..."

"First thing's first," he said, returning to his seat on the floor. "How old is L?"

"Mello, you know that." Near answered.

"I _think_ I know. But I want to be sure. How old is he?"

"L turned twenty-two last Halloween." Near said.

Mello nodded to himself, turning the answer around in his mind. He eventually murmured something that sounded like "ten years."

Near didn't like the direction of that thought process.

"Next," said Mello. "When did L begin looking for successors?"

Near sighed. These questions seemed inconsequential. "As far as I know, he's been looking forever. When I first came to Wammy's, there had already been others vying for the position. Obviously none of them worked out. From what I can gather, at least one of them turned out quite badly."

"I've heard rumors." Mello said, nodding. "Do you think it's safe to assume that L feels... responsible?"

Near almost laughed. "I think it's safe to assume that L feels responsible for _everything_, Mello."

Mello didn't seem happy with that bit. His mouth drew into a grim line.

"But he must..." Mello began, hesitant again. "L must...be a _person _under all that responsibility. He must do things that are...fun...sometimes."

"We all do, I suppose." Near mused. "He derives enough pleasure from sweet things..."

"What about...what about any...attachments? Does L have anyone he's attached to?"

"Well, I'm sure he's attached to Mr. Wammy." Near said. "He always goes with L whenever he travels for a case. Has done for years."

Mello rolled his eyes again, this time disgustedly, as though he thought that Near was being juvenile.

"Any _other_ attachments? People that aren't directly related to L's employment, maybe?" Mello asked, with deliberate patience.

Ah. So that was what Mello was getting at.

"I don't know about that, Mello." Near said. "L wouldn't talk about them if there were, and I wouldn't ask, regardless."

"I thought as much." Mello sighed. "I just needed to...to cover all bases..."

"Mello," Near injected. "What are you planning? I have ideas, and none of them seem particularly wise or profitable."

"Not wise, definitely." said Mello, standing up again. He crossed the room and pulled the door open.

Turning back to look at Near over his shoulder, Mello said, "But the potential for profit is very, very great."

Then he gave a small, rueful grin, and left.

Near resumed his building, mentally reviewing the conversation as did. He was getting the strangest feeling that he had just given secrets to the enemy.

***

One week later, Near had an exam in his Advanced Italian class. He did as well as he'd expected to (something, incidentally, that he'd also expected). The questions were chiefly vocabulary, which made things fairly simple. And Near had always been comfortable with languages anyway.

Near left his classroom after the test feeling quite at ease. This was the last test of the semester, since fall classes would be ending that week. Near had only two more classes to complete, and then he would be facing two weeks of leisure before the New Year. He was completely confident about these classes as well; they were very straightforward. So far, everything pointed toward a smooth and comfortable Winter break.

Walking down the corridor to the stairs, Near occupied himself by considering what gifts he would likely receive for Christmas. He had long since discovered that Mr. Wammy had been a wildly successful inventor before he founded his orphanages and he knew that the man was exceedingly generous with his wealth. Despite this knowledge, Near never considered exploiting that generosity. When lists to Santa were passed around, Near would always write down only one item. This was invariably a toy of some kind, and relatively inexpensive. Near was easy to please, and he even took pride in the fact. Maybe that newly released Lego set...

Near's happy consideration of Christmas presents, however, was not to last. When he was almost to the stairs, his attention was pulled away by the sight of a blond head ducking into a room at the very end of the hallway. There was only one person at Wammy's with hair that golden...

Near considered the situation. He didn't know why Mello should be sneaking (for he was plainly trying to remain unseen) around the mansion, especially while classes were still in session. Mello was the hardest working child at Wammy's. He would never be caught outside of a classroom during exam time unless there was something of great importance elsewhere. Monumental importance.

Near had to wonder why. First Mello's request for information about L and now this? What was going on?

Near did have an idea, but he was loathe to consider it. The thought couldn't remain articulated in his mind before Near began to feel vaguely ill.

Maybe there was nothing to connect these two occurrences. Near could be over-analyzing...

No. There was definitely a connection. Near's unwillingness to consider it didn't negate the connection's existence. The only uncertainty here was whether Near had the stomach to investigate, and see what it was.

Before he could allow himself to change his mind, Near resolutely set off.

There were boys and girls scattered about, all rushing to leave the second floor and get downstairs to lunch. Exam days were always frenetic and Near took advantage of this fact, moving between the children and using them as cover.

When he got to the end of the hallway, Near saw that the door Mello had slipped past was ajar slightly. It was almost unnaturally fortunate. Reconnaissance would be much easier now, since sound would carry.

Near stopped in front the door, trying to look as inconspicuous as possible. If Mello unexpectedly left the room, Near would simply begin walking, pretending that he was leaving class late. It wouldn't be the first time, after all.

The corridor was nearly empty now, only one or two students were leaving now. Near stood as close the door as he dared, taking care not to be seen.

Suddenly, he heard Mello's voice.

"What are you working on?"

Near wondered how it was possible that Mello could manage to sound both tentative and assertive at once. It was strangely characteristic of him as a person, now that he thought about it. Was Mello talking to himself? Was there someone else in the room with him?

The answer came all too quickly.

"A case in Guam..." a low, thoughtful voice answered.

L sounded distracted, which was odd. He usually made a point of giving his full attention to Mello and Near whenever they were with him.

"Is there anything I can help you with?" L continued. "You and Near aren't due to see me for a while yet."

Near could hear the subtle sounds of L chewing on something. He wanted desperately to peek into the crack of the open door, but he knew that doing so would instantly give himself away. Even if Mello missed him, L was hyper-observant every moment of every day. L would surely see.

"There's nothing, really." came Mello's voice. "I just thought that we could talk?"

Near knew that Mello had meant his last sentence to be declarative. It sounded, though, more like a question. He waited for L's reply, but none was forthcoming. All Near could hear was more chewing, interspersed with sounds of tea being slurped. Then, finally:

"Yes. We can talk."

There were sounds of shuffling papers, then, and the creak of someone sitting down on an old chair.

"Is there anything you'd like?" asked L. "There's tea. Biscuits?"

Near heard Mello make a sound in the negative. "I'm fine."

"What is it, Mello? I don't suppose you came here to chat idly. Incidentally, how did you know I was here?" L asked. Was it Near's imagination, or did he seem to be forcing his voice steady? "Students only know about my office on the third floor."

"Most students aren't genii of my calibre." answered Mello. Again, his words and voice were cocky, but there was also a distinct undercurrent of uncertainty in them.

After the briefest of hesitations, Mello continued.

"Most students don't watch you the way I do."

Something in Near froze at those words. He didn't let himself run, though the option became sorely tempting. This was just what he'd feared. When he'd considered the situation earlier, though, it was Mello he'd been worried for. Strange how right now...L seemed to garner more of Near's concern...

No sound came from the room after Mello made his statement. Near could no longer hear L eating or drinking anything. He could picture L sitting, eyes wide, teacup raised halfway to his mouth. No, no that wouldn't be right. Maybe L would look at Mello with sad eyes, like he sometimes did, knowing what was happening and unable to stop it. L wouldn't look surprised. L already knew. L always already knew.

Still there were no words. Perhaps L was weighing his response. What would L say? Would he pretend that Mello's words weren't what they were? Would he pretend to misunderstand? Would he meet them with a firm but gentle refusal? Would he reprimand Mello for even considering...? Near's thoughts tumbled over and over themselves as he waited for the answer. When it finally came, he realized that none of his choices were correct. Or maybe it was that all of them were.

"Mello...would you like a piece of chocolate?"

Near presumed that Mello nodded. He heard the faint crackling of candy wrapper and then the snap of a bite.

That was L's response? To offer Mello sweets? Surely there would be more. L couldn't leave it at that.

Near was surprised to find himself nervous about the outcome. What if Mello succeeded? What if...what if L _wanted_ him to?

A gaping pit seemed to open in front of Near. He could accept that Mello had feelings for L. He always had, really. But for L to actually return them...the thought had never yet crossed Near's mind. And now that it did...he felt...

"Mello, I..." L began. "I've researched the backgrounds of every student at Wammy's. I know every child's history...or as much of it as was available when they were invited to live here. Every one is an orphan, but every one is unique. Every one has a story."

Mello didn't respond. Near knew he was listening to L's words as closely as Near himself was.

"Your story was hardest to uncover..." continued L. "There were very few records of your parents, and nothing from any of the foster homes...no one seemed eager to tell us about your past."

L's voice was so soft, softer than Near had ever heard it.

"I was suspicious, and I looked into each and every place you'd been. What I found wasn't surprising...but that didn't make the knowledge any more pleasant to bear."

Mello piped up after that.

"L, I really don't want to talk about this." he said in a rush. "The past is past. That is done, and now I'm here. With you."

"But the past is darkening your present, Mello." L replied, and for a moment Near heard steel in his voice. "You aren't yet a teenager, and I am well into adulthood. I am not a peer, I am not friend. There are not words to describe the distances in our status. I understand that you care for me. But how am I to see your feelings without the shadow of what you've endured behind them?"

Near heard the scrape of chair legs against the floor. He wondered if Mello had stood up abruptly.

"That has _nothing_ to do with this. He was...he was vile and cold and rough and cruel. You aren't anything like that, L. You are kind and thoughtful and intelligent. You are _good_. I know that what happened to me was bad, but it wasn't half as bad as it could have been. And I'm okay now. I've accepted that it's a part of my history and I've put it behind me."

"Mello, it's not that simple."

"It _is_!" said Mello emphatically. He was just short of shouting. "This is how I feel. That's it. Am I supposed to hide from my feelings because of something that happened seven years ago? What kind of person would I be, what kind of life would I have, if I let myself do that? I want _you_, L. It's God's honest truth, and I'd feel that way with or without the influence of Steven Yates!"

"Mello, put yourself in my position. What kind of person would _I _be if I gave you what you want? How could I ever feel justified?"

"What justification do we need?" asked Mello, sounding cajoling. "Isn't this its own justification?"

For Near, time seemed to stop. For two heartbeats, his whole world was held in suspension. The only idea in his mind was the possibility of L and Mello coming together. This was the moment. If it was to happen, it could happen now. The image of L and Mello embracing swam behind his eyes, and Near felt a flash of jealousy.

And like lightening, Near swiftly realized it was not jealousy of the person he'd expected.

When L's answer came, Near heard it as if from a distance. His realization was taking him over, and everything around him suddenly seemed muted.

"No, Mello." L said. "No. There is more to this than you see. There are consequences to what you are proposing, ones that will be permanent. For you...and for me. I can't allow it. I will not."

"But what am I supposed to _do_?" Mello cried. "You don't know what it's like! I think about you all the time! I can't sleep with all the dreams I've been having! I see you and my mind shuts down and my body starts up! What am I supposed to do?"

"You're young, Mello. Those feelings will fade."

Near heard Mello sigh deeply, along with the sound of approaching footsteps. Panic and the fear of discovery ran dimly through him.

As Near hurried away, he heard the sound of Mello's voice saying, "No, L...they won't."

***

Near breathed a sigh of relief when he was safely back inside his room. Even if Mello hadn't been about to leave, Near was sure he wouldn't have been able to stay much longer. He didn't think that his mind would be able to handle it. There was too much going on in that room...too much to take in. Near needed to get away from there to work through all that he'd heard. He needed to think.

But where to begin? So much had just changed. So much was still changing. How could Near ever hope to understand?!

No, he could understand. He knew he could. Near just had to start from the beginning, and think everything through until he came to the end.

The beginning, then. What did Near know? He knew that Mello approached L, while L was alone and without Near's knowledge. He knew that Mello had confessed his feelings for L. He knew that Mello had been abused in the past, though the true nature and extent of that abuse was uncertain. Near suspected that it was significant, but not so much so that Mello was still constantly affected by it. Near also knew that L had knowledge of Mello's past, and had had it ever since Mello's arrival's at Wammy's. He knew that L thought Mello's past was affecting Mello's attachment to him in the present. He knew that L had refused Mello's advances.

And that was the point at which Near's mind became buried under the clamoring of his heart. Such _relief _hadwashed over him when Near had heard L reject Mello. Near knew that he _should_ feel that way, given the feelings he had for Mello. It made sense. Or rather, it _would _have made sense, if not for Near's heart screaming at him that what made sense was not what was true.

Near was not in the habit of giving his feelings control of his rationality. His head ruled him, not his emotions, and Near prided himself on the fact. But never before had his emotions been so _loud_. It had never been a struggle for Near's mind to triumph over his feelings. His feelings were distant, small things. They'd never stood a chance. Not until now.

In that moment before L had given his final refusal...everything had changed in that moment.

But how?! cried Near's mind. How could this have happened? It was Mello that held Near's affection. Near knew it, had acknowledged it openly to himself. It was neat, it was simple. It _fit. _If Near's feelings lay instead with L, how could Near himself be unaware?

Near was divided against himself, and he hated the feeling. This had to be resolved. Near had to understand, or the battle inside himself would drive him insane.

Why, then? Why would Near want L, when he thought he wanted Mello? And how could the knowledge of his true feelings be hidden himself?

If Near didn't know about his affection for L until now, when had it began? When Near thought that he'd discovered his crush on Mello...was it then? Was it possible that Near's feelings had existed even before that? For how long? Forever?

From the very beginning, L was the only person that Near could honestly say he respected. Everything that Mello had said about L's intelligence, his kindness, his goodness...Near knew that it was all true. L was not a god, but Near knew that he was possibly the human that came closest. More than anyone else, L acted with consideration for the welfare of others; Near had never heard L utter something irrational or thoughtless. L could _teach_ Near things, really teach him. Not spout off facts the way that his classroom teachers did, but actually pass down wisdom. L was admirable on a multitude of levels, really. There was no denying that.

Near discovered that he thought nothing of the kind about Mello. Mello wasn't anything that Near admired. He wasn't wise or particularly noble. Actually...when Near considered it...Mello was quite a lot of things that Near disdained. He was loud, insecure. He needed people around him to be happy. He let others pull him to and fro.

Near's crush on Mello was superficial, he could see that now. Near realized that ever since L came back, he hadn't responded to Mello the way he used to. Even though Mello had returned roughly to his old self, Near didn't react to him the way he once had. His body didn't go hot or cold the same way anymore. There wasn't actually any _tension_ between them, nothing besides the tension of competition...had there ever been? Wasn't that like a neon sign advertising the absence of a real connection? Why had Near never noticed?

There was tension between Near and L, though. Plenty of it.

Why did Near ever think that he liked Mello, then? There must have been reason...

It was the day with the guns...that was the day that Near thought he had discovered his "crush." L had showered Mello with his attention that day, and had given Near none of it. At the time, Near thought that he was angry with L for making him appear incompetent in front of Mello. He'd used that to deduce that he had feelings for Mello. But when Near looked at the situation from another angle, he saw that his conclusion was incorrect. Near had seen in Mello what he wanted for himself - L's attention. _That_ was why he thought he liked him.

But Near understood himself better now. He could only want someone that he felt was admirable. Someone who was, to an extent, above him. Mello was not the person in Near's heart because Near and Mello were equals. They were rivals for L, now in more ways than one.

Near had given secrets to the enemy. It was a mistake he would not make again.

***

_So, what do you guys think? Was Near's change of heart believable? I feel as though its very likely that he would be blindsided by his own feelings, despite his tendency toward introspection. Unaware of how he really felt until it was thrown into his face and all that. Near compartmentalizes his thoughts from his feelings, I think, and it got the better of him. *pets*_

_I know that chapters are going to get more challenging from here on out, so expect less frequent updates. I'd say longer than a week but never longer than a month. Two weeks, possibly three, between chapters now. _

_Thanks to everyone who's reviewed so far, especially those that have reviewed every chapter along the way. A box of virtual pocky to each of you! :D_


	11. Waging War

_Author's Note:_

_Aah! Don't hate me! This chapter did take longer than expected, though it was (as usual) due to time constraints that couldn't be avoided. I know you guys are probably sick to death of my complaints about Real Life, but honestly, it's just WRONG to be forced to write academic papers when fanfic is calling. DX_

_But since it's been so long, here's a small recap: Last chapter, Mello and L had a little chat about Mello's__ feelings (read: __ desire to screw L into next week) __and Near overheard, consequently realizing his own attachment to our dear detective. _

_So that's Our Story Thus Far. All I really have to say about the following chapter is this: get ready, the competition is heating up. When L is the prize (in more ways than one), you know that Mello and Near will be fighting tooth and nail to win. :)_

_***_

Chapter Eleven - Waging War

"_Every body continues in its state of rest, or of uniform motion in a straight line, unless it is compelled to change that state by forces impressed upon it."_

_- Newton's First Law of Motion, translated from the Principia's Latin._

Mello was determined not to be depressed.

Or, more accurately, Mello was determined not to be _so _depressed. He was sad, surely. But he wouldn't allow himself to sink into that feeling and let it control him. He wouldn't become an entirely different person. Mello had been down that road before and he knew that it wasn't fun, not for anyone involved.

Mello thought it was vaguely pathetic that the last time he'd felt this way was L's fault as well. What kind of power did the man have? How was he able stir up a hurricane inside Mello this way? Maybe L actually _was_ a superhero, and had some kind of freaky ability to ensnare all who encountered him...Or maybe he really was just as handsome and brilliant and wonderful as Mello had always assumed him to be...

But Mello had to keep himself on track. Enjoyable as they were, fantasies about L wouldn't get him any closer to the man in the real world.

Considering exactly how L managed to draw people in was useless anyway. L was a mystery wrapped in an enigma, and Mello knew he didn't have a chance of ever really understanding. Even if Mello could somehow divine the truth of his methods, the end result would be the same.

Mello would still want L. And L would still reject him.

Mello hadn't given up, though. Oh no. Mello was thick-skinned: he could fight this war, even alongside the one he was already fighting against Near. He could continue his pursuit of L's heart and body while he pursued the man's title.

Because when something was important to Mello, he would give all he had for it. And Mello had already decided that L was damn near the top of his list of priorities.

L may have rejected him that day, but that didn't mean that L would reject him _every _day. Mello was more than capable of getting what he wanted. He'd proven that time and again, hadn't he? This was no different.

No matter how long it took, or how much effort Mello would have to expend, L would be his.

That wasn't to say that winning L would be easy. Mello's last...discussion...with him had proven that much. Mello had been turning the conversation around over and over in his mind since, looking for any and all ways to turn the situation around. After all of his contemplation, there were certain things that stood out.

The first observation was unpleasant to admit, but Mello knew that it was nothing more than the truth.

It was this: Mello was completely unskilled in the art of seduction.

He had no reason to be skilled, really, at only twelve years of age. What experience did Mello have? His only sexual encounter to date certainly wasn't one to teach him how to win someone's heart...And thank goodness that it wasn't, or Mello might now be bearing a torch for a certain Father Yates. Gross. And even with Mello's considerable skill in influencing people, he was seriously lacking in an ability to influence people _that_ way.

So Mello needed intensive work on that. He'd just thrown his feelings in L's face, after all, and expected L to reciprocate. But that wasn't the way things worked, not with adults. Adults played games, taunted and teased each other. People didn't just lay their cards on the table and hope for the best. Instead, they strategized. They _flirted_. L was an adult, albeit a strange one, and he was more than sophisticated. If Mello really wanted him, he would have to rethink his plan of action.

There was also the problem of L's knowledge of Mello's history. Mello hadn't counted on that, and it threw a spanner in the works for sure. L wasn't likely to let go of that little detail. And since Mello couldn't change history and couldn't erase the knowledge of it from L's mind, he would just have to prove to L that it didn't matter. That, at least, was a problem easily solved. Mello didn't stay up at night crying over it. He could talk to people about it calmly. Mello really was past the whole ordeal, and L would come to see that sooner or later. Given enough time, that problem would take care of itself.

If that was the only reason L had refused him, Mello was actually in a good place. A great place. He and L would be together in months.

Sometimes Mello cursed his intelligence. It had saved him many times throughout the years, of course. Of that there was no doubt. And usually Mello was very grateful for God's gift to him. But sometimes, like right now, Mello wished he'd been born with a brain that was just average. If he had, Mello might have been able to convince himself that L really would be his very soon. His formidable intelligence didn't let him, though. Mello's mind told him that it was likely that there were other reasons for L's rejection.

Things like Mello's age. Things like L's position of authority. Things like L's age, even.

There was the competition to consider as well, and how that would be affected. There was Near, and how he would react. There was Wammy's House and Roger and the other children. What would happen if they found out? There was the _law_, for L would be breaking it the second he laid a hand on Mello.

From some small comments and vague references L had made over the years, Mello knew that that last concern really wouldn't be anything but a minor annoyance in L's mind. L wasn't a person to uphold the law when it stood in the way of greater things. And if L ever did get into serious trouble with the authorities, Mello was sure he would have ways to get out of trouble again. The concept of "authorities" was almost meaningless where L was concerned. L _was _the authority.

But the other problems...they were all painfully apparent.

And what could Mello do about them? He couldn't make himself older or make L younger. He couldn't take away L's status, and wouldn't want to even if he could. Being L, the letter, was a large part of what made L, the man, the kind of person that he was. Changing that would bring nothing but unhappiness for both of them.

Mello thought it would be possible to hide everything from Wammy's House, though. Mr. Wammy and Roger and the other children wouldn't have to know about whatever happened between he and L. How would they find out? Surely L wouldn't tell, and Mello wasn't going to breathe a word about the proceedings either. So barring anyone walking in on them in a compromising position...things would be fine.

What Mello couldn't change, he would just have to accept. Age and circumstance aside, there was still plenty enough left within Mello's control to make his dreams a reality.

Because at the heart of it, Mello knew he had at least one thing on his side, a key tactical advantage.

L liked him.

Maybe it wasn't as much as Mello liked him, and maybe it never would be, but it was there. Mello was sure of it. He knew it the same way that he had known exactly who L was years ago, when he'd first spoken to him. There wasn't anything logical about the idea; it was just a feeling. Something in the way that L spoke to him sometimes...something in his eyes...

The feeling was strong, though, and Mello trusted it. It kept him going.

There was another meeting with L coming up, scheduled for tomorrow afternoon. Mello thought it would be terribly awkward, speaking to L after professing his feelings the way he did, but he didn't have any sort of plan for making things right again. Mello would just have to follow L's lead on this one.

He hoped that Near wouldn't pick up on any lingering tension.

***

About five minutes into the meeting, Mello knew that things had gotten weird.

The first clue came when L opened the door.

"Hello, Mello," L had said, with none of his characteristic geniality. L didn't sound cold, necessarily. Just...detached.

"Hi, L." Mello replied. The rest of the afternoon wasn't looking good.

The second clue came when L moved aside for Mello to come into the office. He raised his hand swiftly as Mello passed, as though to ruffle his hair, but then abruptly dropped it again. Mello's shoulders sagged at the aborted gesture. L wasn't comfortable around him anymore.

Now he and L were sitting together in a cagey silence, waiting for Near to make his appearance so things could get started. Mello didn't know what he could say to make things better. Anything he considered only seemed likely to make things worse between them. There was a clock on the wall that ticked loudly, counting out the long seconds as they passed.

L was completely avoiding eye contact, stacking sugar cubes on his desk with a fierce precision.

He was eighteen cubes high when Near walked in.

"Hi L!" Near said cheerfully. He slipped into the room with more energy than Mello knew he could possess, fairly bouncing on his feet. There was a broad smile on Near's face, and his eyes fixed on L, shining brightly.

At this greeting, L's eyes seemed to double in size and his hand slipped. The sugar cube tower fell into a mess in front of him.

Mello couldn't blame him. What was going on? Near was being so completely..._not Near_. He was speaking with inflection...smiling...Even now, the grin was still in place. _Why_?

Near took his seat next to Mello, his attention never leaving L's face. The two of them stared at each other for a few seconds, then L shook his head slightly and coughed.

It was official. Something here was Not On.

"Today," L began, still visibly shaken. "I wanted to...talk to you both about L's position in the world." He took a sip from his teacup. "I've never doubted your ability to decipher clues and solve cases. All that requires is nothing but pure logic and a basic understanding of human nature, after all. But I believe the other aspects of L's work may remain a mystery to you."

Mello couldn't fathom what L meant. L was a detective. What more was there to understand?

"L is famous," L continued. "He is the foremost detective in every developed country in the world. There is no government head in the Western hemisphere who does not know of his existence, nor one who hasn't asked for his assistance at least once in the last five years. As such, L's influence is hard to overestimate. I don't doubt that L would have the power to start a fully-fledged war if he wanted to, whenever and wherever he chose."

L said all this with neither pride nor humility. He reeled off the sentences as though he was reading them from a textbook.

"It's not L's investigative abilities that make him the figure of justice that he has become. It's not L's intelligence. If it were, the candidates for L's successorship would be considerably greater in number than they are now. No. The thing that makes L's shoes such difficult ones to fill is this: even in the possession of such extreme power and influence, L must maintain neutrality."

L took another sip of his tea. Mello remained fixed to his words, and Near the same beside him. These were things that they could only speculate on before, the things behind the computer screens and gothic font. Now they were hearing about the hidden aspects of L's job, straight from the source.

"The detective L is constantly solicited. I maintain one of my identities solely in order to deal with all of the requests that L receives for help with terrorism and global diseases and political malfeasance, on top of criminal activity. There are huge rewards offered for assistance with these problems, and not all of them are monetary. I won't deny that I've been tempted by some of them in the past...But no matter how attractive the deal, it is _imperative_ that L agree to none of them.

"The detective L must be completely separated from all the governments of the world, working with them only when doing so will aid in an investigation. To do anything else would lead to nothing but disaster. If L were ever to pledge an allegiance to one country, that country would have the means to control him. To control justice itself. Tying L to one side over another would mean the end of L as the world has known him. Ties and alliances lead to liabilities. They lead to loyalties and promises and obligations.

"This meeting won't involve a challenge or a test. This time, I only want to impress upon you both the serious part that character plays in L's work. The next L must have the strength to remain neutral. Alliances must be avoided at all costs."

Mello didn't know what to make of that. The things that L said did make sense, but the way that L had to function...it seemed so lonely.

"But what if tying yourself to another will stop a crime?" Near spoke up. "Surely there must be situations in which an alliance between L and specific nations would stop criminals. What if L's cooperation with one country could save a life?"

Well, that was comforting. At least now Mello knew that Near hadn't completely switched personalities. He still had to challenge ideas that didn't make sense to him.

"I've never yet encountered a situation in which L's cooperation would be worth the risk to his position." L said to Near. "It's not inconceivable that such a situation could someday arise...but the number of lives saved would have to be immense."

"But how can we refuse to act when even one life hangs in the balance?" Near asked.

Had Near's voice deepened since Mello had last heard it?

"How could our consciences ever be clear?"

L's answer was swift and sure. "With the understanding that L as he operates now can save more lives than he could under the control of a national government."

Near stared at the sugar cubes scattered across L's desk, obviously in thought. Then he nodded. "I understand."

"Any more questions?" L asked. He met Mello's eyes once before quickly looking away again.

Mello's heart squeezed painfully. He and Near both shook their heads.

L gave a tense half-smile. "Then I believe you're free to go," he said.

What happened next stole the breath from Mello's lungs.

Before Mello even stood up from his chair, Near jumped out of his seat and made his way to L's side behind his desk. Mello was paying close attention: Near was standing very close.

L turned slowly to look at Near. Whereas Near had a small smile on his lips, L looked downright wary.

"I appreciate your neutrality, L." Near said.

Then he pressed a hard, fast kiss to L's cheek.

Near pulled away and darted out of the room without another word, not even pausing to take in L's dazed expression.

Mello saw red.

***

He caught up to Near in the hallway outside L's office, still burning with rage.

"Near!" Mello shouted. "Near, you son of a bitch!"

Near raised his eyebrows in a mockery of polite inquiry. "Yes, Mello?" he asked.

"What the hell was that?! What the hell do you think you're doing?!"

"You really need to learn the art of understatement, Mello," Near said. "You show your entire hand with that mouth of yours."

"How can you say that?" Mello hissed. "You just up and kissed L, and now you're calling yourself the paragon of subtlety?"

"I didn't say that I was _always_ subtle, Mello," said Near, with theatrically forced patience. Mello got the feeling that he was relishing their discussion. "I just said that you _never_ were. There's a difference."

"Near, you...I..._argh_! How can you do this? You know how I feel about L, I know you do. And for you to just...waltz up to him and kiss him like that! I thought that you had more respect for the competition. I can't believe you're going to try to win like this!"

At Mello's words, Near got a very peculiar gleam in his eyes. Mello thought that it looked almost like a malicious glee. Mello would never admit this, even under the threat of torture and slow, painful death, but he thought that Near's expression was almost...scary.

"Mello," Near finally said. "I don't know whether to laugh or slap you."

What was _that_ supposed to mean?

"I guess my response should depend on your level of seriousness," Near continued. "If you actually think that I would exploit an emotional attachment to L in order to gain his title...well, you're even less qualified to succeed him than I thought."

"Fine," Mello huffed. "If you're not doing it to win, why are you doing it?"

Very quickly, Near's expression turned sullen. "Is there no other conceivable reason why I would approach him?"

Actually, there was. But that would only be reasonable if they were discussing anyone but Near. Near didn't _have_ feelings. Unless feeling superior to everyone around him counted.

"You don't expect me to believe that you..." said Mello. "There's no way you could..."

"Whether you believe me or not is irrelevant. The only opinion that matters is L's. He will see my sincerity, even if you are incapable of doing so."

"But you _can't_!" Mello cried. "If it were anyone else, it wouldn't matter to me. Go chase one of our classmates. Chase _Matt_ for all I care! But not L! It's bad enough that he won't listen to me. Now you want to start banging down his door as well? No!"

"What are you going to do, Mello? Will you try to stop me? There's nothing you can say that will change L's mind and there's nothing you can do to make me quit."

"Near, you _know_ he won't listen to you. He'll turn you away!"

"Mello, really." This was the closest Mello had ever seen Near come to outright scoffing. "Whatever our differences might be, you and I both know that we have at least one thing in common: we are not the kind of people inclined to give up. You want L, and you'll keep following him until you have him. _I_ want L, and I'll keep following him until _I_ have him. Don't pretend that the whole thing is futile. I know you don't believe it."

"What are you saying, Near? That until L picks one of us, you and I are going to..._fight_ for him?"

Near smiled. "Or you could back down now."

"_Never_."

"Then there you have it. We have to compete, there's no other way." Near said, his smile diminishing. "I do wonder how bad things will get...the whole thing hasn't been easy so far, even without the two of us fighting for _this_ too. I imagine things will deteriorate quite quickly..."

It was very strange, then. As Near talked, Mello felt the mood in the hallway change. The walls suddenly felt very close, and Mello thought he could foresee exactly what Near was describing.

Mello was usually a very optimistic person. He thought that anyone could get anywhere with enough hard work, and that every person was capable of redemption, and so on. But Mello couldn't help the unconditionally pessimistic thought that entered his head at that moment.

The war had started. And no matter how things played out, in the end, Mello didn't think anyone would be at peace.

***

_Poor Mello, nothing's ever going his way is it? Not that those circumstances are terribly different from the canon, mind you...But isn't Near awesome in this chapter? First kiss of the fic, baby. Celebrate. :)_

_I'm really not sure about when the next update will be. It could be as early as next week, it could take as long as this one did. Everything depends on Mello and Near deciding to cooperate or not (they're very finicky, you see) and my own stamina. Oh, and a university internship thing I'll be starting soon. Lots of variables there. _

_Whatever happens, know that I'm in this for the long haul. This fic won't be abandoned. At this point in the story, the thought of doing so is actually painful for me, lol. _

_I'd love to hear your thoughts on Waging War. Tell me if you loved it, tell me if you hated it. Tell me if you just want our boys to screw already. (I wouldn't blame you if you did.) Thanks for reading, and I'll see you all next chapter! _


	12. Waiting Game

_Author's Note: _

_Man, its been a busy few weeks. This, coupled with my ill-timed indecisiveness about the chapter, made for a long break between updates. I can't wait for the days that I will be able to return to my one week schedule. XD_

_This is another chapter with a lot going on. Some changes in the trajectory had to be made here, so it might seem like much of this is filler. Maybe it is, maybe it isn't, but it's necessary regardless, so there you go. Also, I broke a lot of my own personal rules of writing in this chapter. I don't yet know the full ramifications of doing so, I just know that it was either a really good idea or a really bad one._

_So yeah...enjoy? :)  
_

***

Chapter Twelve - Waiting Game

"_Never tell a young person that anything cannot be done. God may have been waiting centuries for someone ignorant enough of the impossible to do that very thing."_

_- G. M. Trevelyan_

Near turned eleven fresh with the optimism of youth and weary with the understanding of age. He supposed that the implementation of his new strategy accounted for his optimism. Near was sure that he'd made an impression on L at their last meeting and he had plans for other such measures in the future. The origin of Near's weary understanding, however, was somewhat more difficult to pin down. If he was forced to guess, Near would say that it came from his last conversation with Mello.

That had been nearly three months ago, but Near still delighted in the memory of it frequently. There was something richly satisfying in the way that Near had challenged Mello. Near knew that Mello, and L, would have had no expectation of his behavior. And therein lay his strategy's success: the best weapons contained the element of surprise.

But, as enjoyable as that day had been, Near could not help but think that it had carried with it a sense of foreboding. The competition for L was best conceived as a battle. If not actual blood, there would most likely be many tears shed during its course. Near was not naive enough to suppose that his first romance - if romance it could even be called - would be sunshine and roses at every turn.

The threat of Mello's rivalry aside, Near knew that L was a complex and oftentimes dark individual. He carried the concerns of the world on his shoulders, sometimes more concerns than he was truly responsible for. Winning his heart would not be fun and games, burdened as it was with issues larger than sex.

Near knew his own heart, though, and it was very strongly concerned with sex. Or his pituitary gland was at least. Like Mello, Near came upon puberty early. Unlike Mello, however, Near instantly recognized his condition for what it was. He noticed that his eyes followed the older children, and that his gaze was not always at eye level. He saw his arms and legs begin to lengthen, practically overnight, and that his voice was dropping in pitch. The change was only slight, Near knew that his voice would never sound as deep as L's, but it was apparent to his sensitive ears. These and other signs made puberty the only answer, and Near was happy for the fact. Even if Near was not yet an adult, he was clearly no longer a child. It would be one less objection L could make to them being together.

It was difficult for Near to reconcile his two contradictory states; he had never accommodated paradox with ease. At least this paradox was caused by his emotions, though, Near thought. That was comforting. Emotions weren't supposed to make sense.

With Near's birthday had come new classes. He was now sitting in the front row of a class titled Risk and Reward in International Espionage. It was incredibly interesting, more so than any other class Near had taken at Wammy's so far. The teacher and students met in the library every Wednesday. There, they would spend time researching notable examples of spies and the missions they carried out before cataloguing them into an immense database. The class structure was perfectly suited to Near's introverted, analytical personality. He was free to wander off alone and read for hours at a time, contributing to class discussions in the form of writing instead of speech.

Right now, he was studying the personal account of an Argentinean spy who had made an art of disguising himself. Using only simple, everyday clothes, the man was able to blend into any locale or social group necessary for his work. Near found the man's use of color particularly interesting. When he was forced to appear older than he really was, the man would dress in grays, browns, and dark greens. When he needed to seem wealthy, he wore rich colors, deep blues and purples.

_The colors black and white are two that I use only sparingly. White I reserve for formal, business affairs. It is a color charged with emptiness and respectability, preferable for a wide range of negotiations. Black, on the other hand, I use for only one purpose: to seduce._

Near pondered the paragraph for a moment after reading it. He had never given much thought to his clothing. He'd always worn whatever was available and in the correct size. Other children sometimes requested special items, but Near had never felt the urge to do so himself. Perhaps there was more to the practice of dressing than he had originally supposed...

"Class," the teacher called. "It is time for you to record the data you've collected. After you've done so at your terminals, you are all dismissed."

Near had chosen to read right next to his terminal, as it was more efficient than reading between the bookshelves and then searching for a free computer along with the rest of the class when time was called. He therefore was able to enter his findings quickly and then leave the library, not having to wade through a crowd of other students.

On his way back to his room, Near's mind turned itself to L - an all too common subject these days. After he had given L that kiss at their last meeting, Near had expected L to call him back for a private meeting soon afterward. Near thought that it would take L no more than a few days to speak to him and give the answer Near had predicted: a gentle, firm "no."

But L hadn't met with him within those few days. A week, then a month, went by without word. Even now, three months later, Near had received no summons, no hint of any desire on L's part to discuss the kiss with him.

Near could make neither heads nor tails of L's silence. If he was going to say no, why didn't he just say it? Near saw no point in drawing out a negative response. And if L was going to say yes - in Near's estimation, a nearly impossible response - why would he wait to say that too?

Near wished L would just _do_ something already. His plan could progress no further without L's answer. All of these feelings he had to deal with were frustrating, but at least the frustration could be managed with premeditated action. The way it was now, Near could only sit around and wait. And waiting was Near's all-time least favorite activity.

This was the way the last three months should have gone: Near would meet with L at L's request, in a place that was private but still within the bounds of decency. L would tell Near that he was too young, too entrenched in L's authority, too caught up in the competition for a sexual relationship to exist between them. Near would listen to L's (no doubt well-rehearsed) speech and accept his decision with marked maturity. Then, when the next meeting came around, Near would continue his routine of warm and engaging interaction. Only this time around, L would see the thoughtful, _respectable _strategy behind it. L would be charmed by Near's sophistication.

Near thought it was wonderful plan. Simple, easy, and low-risk. It was a plan that was sure to beat the pants off of Mello's, at any rate.

But L was stopping it from happening! More than a few times, Near wondered if L had actually foreseen all of his schemes and was twiddling his thumbs on purpose.

But that was ridiculous. If L had a mind to halt Near's progress, the best thing for him to do, strategically, was speak the plan out loud to Near himself. That way, Near would _know_ that L was wise to him and he would be forced to come up with an alternative. L was doing something else entirely, thought Near, and damned if the man could give him a clue about what that something was.

Safely returned to his room, Near resolved to put the matter out of his mind. All of his contemplation did nothing productive in the end. L would do what L would do, and that was it. There were some things that were better left unconsidered, and this was one of them.

Then Near spotted the note on the floor. It was from L.

Near simply stared at the note for a moment, taking the time to wryly consider why the man always had to take him by surprise. Then he turned right around, passed through his bedroom door once again, and went to find him.

***

"L?" Near called, stepping into the room. "You wanted to see me?"

Near had found him in the kitchen, of all places. L hadn't seen fit to specify where Near was to meet him and it was only through a bit of intensive deduction that Near had avoided searching the whole mansion.

The kitchen was brightly lit and sparkling clean. There was no formal table or chairs, as meals were always served in the adjacent dining room. There was, however, a pair of stools next to an island in the center.

L was sitting on the top of one stool, an almost obscene amount of strawberry shortcake in front of him. His fork was poised thoughtfully above one of the largest strawberries scattered over the top. Near managed to curse Mello's intelligence in the back of his mind when he came upon the scene. Mello thought Near understood L? No one's expression was more inscrutable than L's was at that moment. Near couldn't have understood what he was thinking if his life had depended on it.

L looked up from his cake when Near spoke, dropping his fork jerkily.

L was nervous? He couldn't be...Near had just startled him.

"Near," said L. He pulled the stool next to him back from the counter. "Please, sit."

On his way to the seat, Near had to remind himself not to twirl his hair. Hair-twirling was an aspect of the old Near. The new Near was different. He had to be mature. Poised.

The stool cushion was soft and smooth underneath him, the counter only a bit higher than was comfortable for someone his height. Near was disappointed to discover that he couldn't see L's face. All he could manage from his current position was L's profile, and that was obscured by L's untamable hair.

"I know you don't have much of a liking for sweet things-"

_With the notable exception of you._

"-but for the sake of courtesy: would you care for a piece?" L asked, indicating his cake.

Near shook his head, his thoughts taking on an uncharacteristically asinine quality. There was only one fork...

L let out a cynical, half-broken laugh. "You had so much to say at our last meeting. Now you are silent?"

Near had to speak then. "I assumed you called me here because _you_ wanted to do the talking this time around." he said.

L turned his head, meeting Near's frank stare with one of his own. Near could tell that L was focusing all of his attention on Near at that moment. His pupils darted from side to side rapidly, as though he was searching for something.

"You assumed I would reject you." L said suddenly, as if he had only then come to the realization. The statement was not a question.

It took a moment for the words to sink in, and when they did, Near reflected that this was probably the moment where he was supposed to forget how to breathe. He didn't, surprisingly. Instead, he and L just stared at each other, both still breathing evenly.

They stayed like that for a few heartbeats. Then, suddenly, L turned back to his cake.

"Please don't misunderstand," he said. "I don't mean to say yes."

Near came back to himself. Of course L wasn't going to accept. Not now, anyway. He had known that. Of course.

L poked at the cake moodily with his fork. Speaking more to it than to Near, he muttered, "I didn't call you here to ravish you on this countertop."

Did L have to be so explicit? The last time Near checked, the kitchen was still public space. Didn't he worry about others overhearing?

And didn't he have any consideration for the images that last sentence would conjure? Near thought viciously.

L didn't meet Near's eyes after that declaration, instead stuffing an oversized forkful of cake and icing into his mouth.

Near waited through the gratuitous chewing. L and that mouth.

"I just didn't think that you had _expected _me to refuse you," said L. He took a few breaths in and out before continuing. "Why would you do everything that you did if you didn't expect success?"

Near pulled his lips up into a smile. "I do expect success," he said. "Why do you assume I expect it _now_?"

L watched him for a second, then chuckled lowly. "You're right of course," he said. "That assumption had no basis. My mistake."

Near laughed along with him. L was such a wonderful person. All at once, he was the proudest and most humble being Near had ever known.

The two of them settled down again, eventually, sighing lightly. There were so few times when Near could just _be _with L. It was nice to just sit and enjoy his company without Mello or the competition in the way.

"I _am_ fond of you Near," L said later. "Truly. And you don't have to be anything but what you are for that to be so."

This time, Near really did stop breathing.

"But you...with Mello, you...I thought..." he stammered.

L turned to face him again.

"I know what you were trying to do," he said softly. "But it wasn't necessary. Mello's emotionality and openness are interesting to me, yes. But that doesn't mean that you are not. You have qualities that Mello will never have, just as Mello has qualities that you never will. Mello is Mello and you are you."

Near was stunned. He was mortified to find that he felt like crying.

L had given Near something so precious. Something Near never even knew he wanted. And he had done it so quickly, so simply. As if the idea of Near's worth should have been self-evident.

"Don't ever change yourself on someone else's account." L said. "The risks are never worth the rewards."

It was only through sheer force of will that Near kept the tears welling in his eyes from falling. What was this? A few words and L turned Near - Near himself! - into a sniffling maiden?

Did L know what he was doing? This talk wasn't deterring Near from his goal. If anything, it was motivating him further in the pursuit. Near's head filled with wild visions of he and L five, ten years from now, sitting together in a kitchen just like this one, talking quietly together just as they were now. Near saw L's arm looped around his waist, Near's own head resting on L's shoulder. He saw L turn and drop a kiss on his crown, the gesture comfortable and casually intimate, like he had done it everyday for years. It seemed such a beautiful picture...

"L?" he asked.

"Yes?" replied L, raising his eyebrows.

"Do you wonder if I'm just acting? If I'm just doing all this for the competition? To get ahead?"

L smiled gently. Then he said, simply, "no."

"Why not?" Near asked. "How do you know?"

Still smiling, L shook his head. "Near, I've known you for years. I think I can safely say that it's not your style," he said.

Near smiled back. He knew he could trust L to understand.

It wasn't until Near was back inside his bedroom that he realized L had never explained why he'd waited so long to talk. A person didn't put off a conversation for three whole months for no reason, after all. But Near still had no idea what L could have gained by doing so.

When he slid into bed that night, the question was still nagging at him. Near began to go over the meeting inside his head, using his powerful memory to replay the discussion verbatim. With careful attention, Near saw that there were certain aspects of L's behavior that stood out. The dejected, almost sullen way he'd been eating his cake. The way he'd looked into Near's eyes intensely. The way he'd appeared to be fighting himself at times.

Near realized that there actually was an explanation for the wait.

It was one that was both incredible and enchanting to consider.

***

After their talk in the kitchen, Near didn't see L for a week. Six days, twelve hours and thirty-four minutes. Near didn't even have the willpower to deny that he was counting. He could now understand why so many people sacrificed so much for relationships. Stories like _Romeo and Juliet_ had always made Near sneer derisively, but now he could see the truth in them. Relationships were powerful things. Near wasn't even _in _a relationship and he knew he would sacrifice a lot for L. If L asked him to stop playing with toys in return for a single kiss, Near would have done so, gladly. And he would have considered the price a pittance.

Then, on the seventh day, during his Cryptography class, Mello planted himself in front of Near's desk.

Near gave a mental sigh. Cryptography was a class he and Mello shared this semester. They'd taken it at L's own request, in fact. But the class wasn't going well so far. Near and Mello spent more time attempting to show each other up than learning the subject. More than a few times, their instructor had ended class simply on account of their bickering.

Mello looked...different. His blond hair was brushed neatly behind his ears, the ends brushing his shoulders, his bangs lying flat against his forehead. There was a new sharpness to his eyes...was Mello wearing _eyeliner_?

And his clothes! Instead of the t-shirt and jeans Mello normally wore, today he was covered head to toe in a thin, smooth material. It clung to his shoulders, torso, waist, hips, and thighs. Only the ends of his pants and the bell sleeves of his long shirt flared away Mello's body. Everything was solid black.

"Can I help you, Mello?" asked Near, with false solicitousness.

Mello examined his nails. They were black as well, presumably painted to match his outfit.

Mello was so vain.

"To do that," he said, not deigning to look at Near. "you ought to just jump off the Royal Victoria and have done."

"You're right, Mello." agreed Near. "My death would be convenient for you. Then, L might just _give _you the title. He would then, of course, be too distraught with grief to do anything wise."

Mello dropped his hand onto Near's desk, making a sharp cracking sound.

"Roger says L wants to see us. Now shut up and come with me."

Ah, thought Near. Wonderful, another meeting. He hastily packed his books away and followed Mello out of the classroom.

They took the usual route to L's office upstairs. Neither of them spoke on the way there. Occasionally, Mello would shoot a poisonous look at Near and Near would smile serenely back at him, knowing it provoked him more than any insult could.

When they entered, Near found that L was not in his usual place behind his desk. He was instead standing at a window, his back turned toward the glass.

So L got a full-on, complete view of Mello the second that he walked in the door.

It was difficult to gauge his reaction. After taking a single look at Mello's appearance, L spun around to face the window.

"Hello, boys," L said, talking to the panes of glass in front of him. Near noticed that he was slouching more than normal. "Take your seats, please."

Near sat down in his usual chair in front of the desk, but Mello walked right past, coming to stand next to L at the window.

"L?" he asked. When L turned to look at him, Mello ducked his head shyly, his hair falling into his downcast eyes.

With a small smile, Mello reached into the messenger bag at his hip, something Near hadn't noticed before. From it he pulled a palm-sized plastic container, holding what looked like four chocolate-covered strawberries.

"I got these for you," said Mello timidly. He looked up at L from under his eyelashes. "They're supposed to be really good."

Near was dumbfounded. Mello wasn't _shy. _He was the farthest thing from! And then Near saw it: Mello was showing L something new, a different side of his personality to catch his interest.

Mello was ripping off his strategy!

Near seethed as he watched Mello push the strawberries into L's hand, his fingers lingering unreasonably on L's as he did. Then Mello flounced to his chair, sparing a moment to smirk triumphantly at Near on the way. More clearly than if he had spoken the words, his expression said, take _that._

L remained where he was, staring at the strawberries in disbelief. He finally sighed and moved to place them on the corner of his desk. "Thank you, Mello," he said stiffly.

"Now." said L resolutely. He took a deep breath, facing the two of them. "For today, we are going to see what you've learned so far in the class I asked you to take this term."

Near cringed inwardly. Cryptography was the one class he was sure to be failing right now. From the way that Mello was biting his lip, Near had an idea that the same was true for him as well.

"I would like you both to decode these two letters." L said. He handed the two of them identical sheets of paper, each one covered in miniscule symbols.

"You have three minutes," L told them. Then he sat on the edge of his desk, feet pulled to his chest and toes curled against the edge, to wait.

Staring at the obscure symbols in front of him, Near thought it was probably a waste of time to even try. He could reason through a third of the letter, possibly, with the few basics he'd learned. Everything else would be completely outside of his ability.

He chanced a quick peek to his right. Mello was gawking at his own paper, his kohl-rimmed eyes bugging in confusion.

This was terrible. L would know instantly what was going on, and he would not be pleased about Mello and Near's lack of focus. And what could Near say? I'm sorry L, but I just can't concentrate in class when my rival for your attentions in the same room?

Near only had enough time to scribble down a few of the words that he could decipher before L said the three minutes were up. He and Mello guiltily handed him their papers, each trying as hard as they could to avoid meeting his eyes.

L scanned the sheets cursorily, obviously seeing their abysmal performance quickly. Near steeled himself for the inevitable rebuke.

Then he heard L's voice. "_Why_?"

"L, I'm sorry!" cried Mello. "Cryptography is the class I have with Near, and he never lets me pay attention!"

"I never let _you_ pay attention?" Near challenged. "_You _never let _me_! L, Mello is always shouting or stomping -"

"You never stop arguing!"

"- or stealing my workbooks -"

"- or making snide remarks -"

"- or interrupting my answers -"

"- or sabotaging _mine_ -"

"Enough." L said.

Near and Mello shut up.

"I didn't ask why you did poorly on the assignment. What I meant was..._why_."

L looked at the two of them. When his words came, they sounded strangely desperate. "Why are you both so fascinated by me? Why would your rivalry for me be enough to halt your education? Who am I? What have I done? What have I done to make you feel this way?"

L gave a heavy sigh, his shoulders slumping at the end of it. "_Why_?"

Near didn't know what to say. There were a million reasons why he felt the way that he did about L. He was _L. _But none of Near's reasons seemed adequate in words.

Finally, Mello spoke up, for both of them. "We just do, L. Not everything has a reason." he said meekly. "We just do."

L studied him for a moment. Then he turned his face to the window.

Mello got out of his chair and went to stand beside him. He reached up and put his arms around L's neck, hugging him fiercely. Near left his chair as well, coming to join him. His arms were a bit shorter than Mello's, but he managed to wrap them around L all the same.

"L," Mello said, his face buried in L's shoulder. "Do you feel anything? Anything at all? For either of us?"

L didn't respond. His arms remained at his sides, his gaze still on the world beyond his window.

Near heard Mello sigh next to him.

The three of them remained in that position for some time, listening to each other breathe, before L shrugged out of their hold. He returned to his earlier position at the window.

"I don't think anything more can be done today." he said. "You both may go. I need to...I need to be alone."

Near and Mello nodded and gathered their things. They left as quietly as they could.

***

Later that night, Near found himself alone in the dining room with Mello. All the other students had eaten earlier, and he and Mello were the only two left.

They hadn't argued, but they hadn't talked civilly either. That dinner was spent in silence.

Near was poking listlessly at his potatoes when he heard the door creak open.

Mello gasped.

L was shuffling into the room, watching the floor as he moved. His hands were deep in his jeans pockets. When he came the edge of the table, he pulled one of them out and rubbed the molding absently.

"We need to talk," he said.

***

_I'm sorry, I'm sorry! *dodges bullets* _

_I hate cliffhangers as much as you do, honestly. And not just when I'm reading - I hate them when I'm writing too. My friends have listened to me rant about them enough to know that I'm telling the truth when I say that. There really wasn't any other way for me to end the chapter. *hides again*_

_Anyway, in atonement, I'm hoping I can get the next chapter out in much less time than it took me to write this one. Whereas this chapter was oftentimes a huge, terrifying blank in my mind, I know EXACTLY what will happen in the next one. So it should be easier. :)_

_As always, I'd love to know what you thought. It always makes me smile when a reader takes the time to let me know their opinions. :) See you next chapter!_


	13. Immaculate Conception

_Author's Note: _

_Okay. I've been waiting to write this chapter since the whole fic began. It's been a long time coming, I really hope I did it justice. This chapter follows directly from the first, with no breaks in time. I hope that cliffhanger hasn't been too painful. :)_

_And if I might be so pretentious as to leave a dedication...This one is for you, lovebug. Now you won't have to wait until Sunday evening. *hugs*_

_Also, there will be no closing notes to this chapter. I want your impressions at the end to be untainted by my own ramblings. :P_

_Please let me know your thoughts on this one. I'm incredibly anxious to hear how you feel about it. And I do wonder how many people will have expected what follows..._

_***_

Chapter Thirteen - Immaculate Conception

"_Who then devised the torment? Love._

_Love is the unfamiliar Name_

_Behind the hands that wove_

_The intolerable shirt of flame_

_Which human power cannot remove._

_We only live, only suspire_

_Consumed by either fire or fire." _

_- T.S. Eliot, The Four Quartets_

Later that night, Near found himself alone in the dining room with Mello. All the other students had eaten earlier, and he and Mello were the only two left.

They hadn't argued, but they hadn't talked civilly either. That dinner was spent in silence.

Near was poking listlessly at his potatoes when he heard the door creak open.

Mello gasped.

L was shuffling into the room, watching the floor as he moved. His hands were deep in his jeans pockets. When he came the edge of the table, he pulled one of them out and rubbed the molding absently.

"We need to talk," he said.

***

Mello couldn't believe his eyes. L _never _came to speak to him and Near. Not outside of his office. And he never spoke to them without announcing his intention to do so in advance. It was a rare occasion indeed that L would even be _seen _outside of his private rooms. And Mello and Near had had a meeting with him only hours ago.

But here he was, in the dining room. Standing at the head of the table, with Near sitting at his right and Mello at his left. He had no laptop to hide behind. No window to look out of. Instead of the soft glow of the office lamps, harsh fluorescent lights beat down on him. They cast rough shadows across his features, spikes from the shape of his hair, and made the circles under his eyes even darker.

Or maybe that was just a product of L's anxiety. Mello could feel it radiating off of him in waves. He knew L was always under some kind of stress, his job being what it was. But this was different. Where he had always seemed solid and steadfast, L now seemed tired. Still resolute, but now...weary.

Mello turned his gaze from L and brought it to his own untouched dinner plate. Near's plate was ahead of him as well, most of his food still on it. Apparently, Near too had lost his appetite tonight. He was staring intensely at L. Mello saw Near's chest rise and fall, his breathing unusually quick.

Mello didn't know _why_ Near was so upset. L had just said that he wanted to talk, after all. But Mello did know that the information was important. Near was always stoic, sometimes to the point of catatonia. His labored breathing was the equivalent of a major breakdown.

Near must have known. Already, he must have known what L would say.

It was just a matter of L saying his piece, then, for Mello to know as well.

L was still stroking the molding at the table's edge. He wasn't looking across at Mello or at Near, but down at his fingers. Mello followed his gaze.

As they traced patterns on the wood, L's fingers were shaking.

There was a large picture window on one wall of the room. Through it, Mello could see rain falling steadily. Huge drops collected on the window panes, some sticking to the glass and others rolling slowly down to the ground. The sound of the water striking the panels made the silence in the dining room all the more pronounced.

"We need to talk," L repeated. He tore his hand from the molding, placing it on the back of the chair at the head of the table and pulling it out to sit. He folded his legs up against his chest as usual, hands resting on the tops of his knees.

"How...how do the two of you...envision a relationship with me?" asked L. There was a pause, and then L looked from Mello to Near and back again, apparently gauging their reactions to his question.

Near immediately responded. He caught L's eyes and held them, shaking his head in a forceful 'no.' His black eyes were wide and imploring.

Mello had no idea what Near's answer meant, but L seemed to receive the message. He gave a small sigh and nodded curtly before turning to Mello.

Mello was unafraid to give L a straight, clear answer.

"I want to be with you, L," Mello said. "in any way you want me to be. That's all."

L nodded and gave another small sigh. "Both answers I expected. And both answers I feared," he murmured to himself.

L was silent for a few beats, nibbling on his thumb thoughtfully. Mello watched him, and Near too, waiting for what would come next.

"Another question," L later said. "In your minds, how does this relationship affect who will become L's heir?"

Mello and Near answered as one. "It doesn't."

L looked up sharply. "How?" he demanded. "How can that be?"

It was unnerving to have all of L's attention focused so intently. This must be a bit of what criminals saw when they encountered The World's Greatest Detective. L was like a wolf on the hunt, the scent of prey caught and the final chase only moments away.

Mello looked at Near helplessly. Of course that wouldn't affect the competition! The two were completely different! Instead of forming an answer to L's question, all Mello could do was wonder how L could even consider such a thing.

When Near spoke, he did so while looking at the table, consternation written plainly on his face. "Because they're both your decisions L. Who you choose in one area won't affect who you choose in another. Not unless you let it. And we know that you won't."

L shook his head. "You place too much faith in me. I wouldn't keep them separate. I _couldn't_, because no one could."

Neither Mello nor Near had anything to say to that. Outside, the rain fell harder.

"This is just one manifestation of the central problem." L said. "You, both of you, see me without flaws. It is no surprise that you do; Wammy's House has brought every child up to see L that way. But your close contact with me has not tempered that view, as I thought it would."

L sighed. "I don't know how, and I don't know why, but spending time with me has instead done the opposite."

"I'm not perfect," he went on. "I'm not. I'm not _close_. I'm ruthless. I'm dishonest. I'm selfish and arrogant and stubborn."

L raised his thumb to his mouth and bit down hard on it. He continued, speaking around the digit. "I need you to understand this. You see a flawless man when you look at me, but what you see is an illusion. So when I say that I could never be impartial, believe it. I am arrogant, yes. But I'm not yet so arrogant that I think I could be strong enough for that."

Mello began to fear that L would cut right through the skin, the way he was attacking his thumb. Had L ever done that before? Broken the skin and tasted blood on his tongue?

"I can't do the simple thing," L said, thumb still mercifully intact. "Catching the next plane out of the country would be easy. And it would be quick."

Mello gasped in horror.

"I won't, Mello," said L patiently. "I won't. The last time I did that, things didn't go as planned anyway. I remember the results being disastrous, in fact. I learned my lesson. And, besides, I promised that I would never run from you both again."

That was a relief. Mello's eleventh year was positively dreadful. He had no desire to repeat the experience.

"But you see my dilemma. I can't leave, and I certainly can't give in to either of you. I can't...and I won't."

"So that's it then?" asked Mello. He didn't want to speak the words, but they tumbled out from his mouth without his consent. Somewhere, some part of him had to know. "You don't choose either of us? And you never will?"

"That's correct." L said, and Mello could almost feel his heart cleave in two. "I can't choose either of you, and I never will."

Tears welled in Mello's eyes. L's words sounded like a death knell. It was one thing for him to say no. But to say no and _never_...It was like ripping away hope itself.

Mello angrily brushed a tear from his cheek. It wasn't right. Nobody cared about L the way that Mello did. Nobody. How could he ever content himself with chasing the man's title now? Now, when all he really wanted was his heart?

But after one tear had fallen, all the rest seemed to follow. They spilled over Mello's eyelids and slid down his cheeks, one after another, in a perverse march. Making his nose run and his breath hitch painfully. And no matter how he tried, all the calming exercises that Mello had ever read about did nothing to stem the flow.

Through his tears, Mello glanced at Near. He looked just as calm as Mello was not.

How could Near just sit there? Didn't he claim to feel the same way about L that Mello did? L's words should have hurt him as much as they did Mello, shouldn't they? But there he sat, not a trace of sadness on his pale face. He didn't look angry, or even disappointed. Near's face gave away no emotion, except perhaps a peculiar cautiousness.

Suddenly, Mello heard L's chair scrape the tiled floor. From the corner of his eye, Mello saw L stand up and bridge the gap between them, coming to kneel at Mello's side. Mello turned to look at him and instantly his heart thudded painfully. He was plunged all the way back to the first day he'd seen L, all those years ago. It was right here in this dining room. Back then, Mello had looked into L's eyes and believed that L understood him. And even now, that same understanding was reflected in L's gaze. Mello gave a harsh sob at the realization.

L not only saw Mello's pain, he was able to feel it as though it was his own.

L reached up and cradled Mello's face in his hands. He passed his thumbs across the hollows underneath Mello's eyes, pushing the tears aside.

"I can't choose either of you," L whispered, shaking his head helplessly. "I can't choose."

And then he pulled Mello's head down, and raised his up, and brought their lips together.

It only lasted for a few seconds, just one mouth touching another's. Then L pulled away. His hands fell away from Mello's face and he sat back on his heels.

"Do you see now, Mello?" he asked.

"This is all that's left," L said. "The only option left. I can't leave. I promised not to run again, and I won't break my word. And I can't keep refusing the both of you. I don't know why I thought I could," and here he gave a wry smile. "Your determination is one of the things I most sought for a successor. Neither of you will take no for answer, I know. Not if I protested for a hundred years. So that door is closed. And I can't say yes to just one...it would ruin everything we've worked for all this time."

L returned to his seat at the head of the table. He turned to Near, taking his hand and dropping a kiss on the knuckles.

"You knew before. Didn't you, Near?" L asked.

Near nodded, making no move to remove his hand from L's grasp. "I knew this is what you had in mind. The second you walked in, I knew."

L nodded back. He squeezed Near's hand before returning it to rest on the table.

"This is all that's left," he said. "I see what this is doing to the both of you. I will do what I can. I will do my best. It's not at all the situation I want for you...especially you, Mello. You don't need another affair like the one before. And even that aside, there is nothing remotely moral about this."

"But we can't continue as we have been," L continued, sighing again. "My rejections are not keeping you safe. They're hurting you, in every conceivable way. And...and this is all that's left."

L didn't speak after that. He looked from Mello to Near and back again, seemingly waiting for one of them to do the talking now.

Mello didn't know what to think. It was as if all his dreams had just shattered and come true at once.

L was agreeing, but with conditions. And the condition he'd put forward was the _last_ one Mello would have wished for. Mello would have L...but so would Near.

In a flash, Mello came to understand something. This must be it. The reason Near would appear in his dreams. Whenever Mello would dream of L, Near was ever-present. It frustrated Mello entirely, because Near _shouldn't _have been there. Mello didn't want him. Mello didn't even like him, after all. But now Mello understood.

Near was the key to L. Without Near, L would never be his.

But the thought of sharing L made Mello's stomach turn. Mello didn't want Near to be with L that way. He didn't want anyone else to be with L but him. L was right, Mello thought. There was nothing remotely moral about the idea of the three of them together. It was _wrong _to share a person that way. People weren't toys.

Mello was not so naive that he had never come across the idea of a person being used as a plaything, though. He'd heard of "bedbuddies" from some of the older orphans, seen them depicted in some of the movies that he and Matt watched in secret. The whole concept wasn't new.

The concept of _L _in that capacity, however, was. It wasn't just L's body that Mello wanted. Mello wanted all of him, everything. And to split the man in half, keeping half for himself and giving half to Near...it wasn't what Mello wanted at all.

Near seemed similarly unimpressed by the concept. He was twirling his hair around his index finger fiercely, studying the tabletop with narrowed eyes. Every few moments, he would look at L, and then at Mello, watching them sharply. He had yet to give any verbal answer to what L was proposing.

Mello sighed. His lungs still ached dully from his sobbing earlier.

He tried to picture what it would be like. Kissing L and then watching him turn his lips to Near. Seeing Near put his hands where Mello had only seconds before. Clinging to L and feeling Near do the same next to him. Would there be times when Mello was with L and Near wasn't? Would Near be with L when Mello wasn't? Would the three of them be together always? Would they all share a bed?

The picture was not a pleasant one. But it seemed to be the only way. It was either share L with Near indefinitely or have nothing of him at all.

There was only one question, then, left for Mello. Did he want L more than he wanted L _away_ from Near?

His heart knew the answer to that question. L was paramount. Mello had been willing to make sacrifices for him since the very beginning. What was this but one more sacrifice?

If it meant even one more kiss, one more kiss like the one that still burned with a smoldering heat on his lips, Mello would agree.

And before he knew it, he was nodding the affirmation.

"Okay, L." Mello said. "Okay."

L nodded curtly back at him, apparently needing no more confirmation than that.

Near was not so quick to give his consent.

"How will this be, L?" he asked. He gave a few more sharp tugs to his lock of hair. "We will continue as we have been, only now you'll kiss us on occasion?"

"If that's what you want," L answered weakly. "I'm trying to give you want. I can't allow you to abandon the competition, so that will continue as it has been. And I can't stop working. But when I have the time available, between cases maybe...I'll spend it with the both of you."

"Are you only doing this so that you'll still have your successor?" Near huffed. "Do you just want both of us? Is one not good enough? How do you feel, really?"

L remained still in his chair, hands positioned firmly on the tops of his knees. He gave no answer.

Near sighed, shaking his head. "We are supposedly the children here, and yet we are the ones who can actually discuss this."

He looked over to Mello. Mello stared as Near studied him, scrutinizing his expression. Mello had no idea what he was searching for.

"I suppose I have no choice," Near finally said. "If I say no, I know that I'll regret it the rest of my life."

L gave to Near the same curt nod that he'd given to Mello.

"Wait!" Mello exclaimed. "How will you keep this even, L? What if I'm with you and Near is gone? What if Near's with you and I'm gone?"

"I don't think that will ever happen, Mello." L said, with a kind of grim amusement. "I won't be with either of you when the other is not present. If I were, I expect things would go very badly very quickly. Everything would be put into jeopardy."

Mello nodded. He hoped that would be the case. It would be terrible to wonder what L had done with Near while Mello was not present. To wonder if L kissed Near with a greater passion, or held him with a tighter hold.

Mello heard the rain slow to a gentle, even beat outside. It was as though the weather knew that something inside the mansion had been resolved, and was now accommodating that mood.

Near climbed out of his chair - climbing was the right word, the chair was still a bit too large for his frame - and shuffled over to L. With L sitting and Near standing next to him, their faces were at exactly even heights.

L did nothing but wait as Near moved closer. As he watched, Mello tried to suppress the desire to insert himself between the two. Mello had agreed to this, and this was just the first of many instances in which he would have to witness Near and L together. If it was painful to see now, perhaps it would be less so as time went on.

But, illogical as it was, Mello didn't _want _the pain to lessen. He hoped that what he was feeling now would never change, that it would hurt just as acutely and just as intensely forever. Because if the pain ever did become easier to bear, it would mean that Mello had become comfortable with seeing L with someone else. And even if it meant this terrible suffering, Mello never wanted that to happen.

So he sat in his chair, feeling an iron fist close over his heart, and watched as Near tilted his head ever so slightly to the right, and watched L do the same, and watched their lips meet.

It lasted longer than Mello's kiss from L had. Mello found himself counting the seconds, _one one-thousand...two one-thousand... _By _four one-thousand_, Near's jaw had widened by a fraction, and the kiss became both longer and less chaste than Mello's.

As it went on, one of L's hands crept up to Near's temple. His fingers threaded through Near's white hair, tightening only fractionally near the end. Mello's stomach lurched with pain, but also, strangely, with arousal.

Though he was rapidly becoming disgusted with himself, Mello couldn't look away. Near and L seemed so involved in each other as they kissed. Mello suddenly remembered that Near had a longer history with L than Mello himself had, and it showed in the way they were together now. They were both so easy with each other, Mello almost wondered if this wasn't the first time they had done this.

L eventually pulled back, his eyes opening as soon as his lips separated from Near's. Near stood motionless for a few moments. His eyes didn't open until Mello's chair scraped loudly against the floor.

Mello was determined not to be left on the sidelines. No way was L leaving tonight with the taste of Near on his mouth. He rushed to L's side, ready to undo that damage.

Mello was taller than Near, so he was able to bend slightly. He laid his hands on L's cheeks, mimicking the way that L had cradled his head earlier. Before, L was comforting Mello, stopping him from crying. But Mello recognized that he was not the only one hurting. L was troubled now as well. Mello wanted to help him. Wanted to care for _him _now.

So he tried to be as gentle and reassuring as possible with his kiss. It was difficult, because L's lips were so warm now, so moist and slick. And Mello had been dreaming of doing this very thing with L for such a long time. Part of him only wanted to take and take and take from this kiss, and spare no thought for giving at all. But Mello would feel shallow if he couldn't restrain his own desire. Especially now, when L needed support, when he would only be further burdened by Mello attacking him.

So Mello was as calm as he could be, moving his lips only minimally. He had no idea what to do, really. There was nothing in the library that explained French kissing. But his inexperience was probably for the best, Mello reflected. L didn't need to be seduced with a fiery lip-lock like a girl in a romance novel. He needed simple touch, and the knowledge that Mello was mature enough to handle what he had proposed.

But as they went on, Mello found it harder and harder to maintain himself. Instead of getting used to the contact, Mello found himself being more and more excited by it. L didn't taste of sugar. In his fantasies, Mello would kiss L and taste cherry or vanilla or Earl Grey tea. But L didn't taste like much of anything now. It was the wetness and the heat of his mouth that Mello fixated on.

L's tongue curled around his, and Mello heard himself make a needy sound in the back of his throat. His hands fell to L's shirt, clutching the material in handfuls, almost without Mello's conscious awareness. Mello pressed himself as close to L as he could, the arm of L's chair becoming a barrier between them that was more irritating than any chair arm had the right to be.

Before he knew it, L's mouth ripped away from his. Mello opened his eyes dazedly, finding L in front of him, breathing more shallowly than usual, eyes glassy.

"It's getting late," L said. His voice was rough (_husky_, Mello's mind supplied, with a tiny thrill) and sounded like it was coming from far away. "I think it's time that the both of you went to bed."

Mello and Near protested this idea as best they could. They had only just begun! They hadn't _done _anything yet! But L was resolute and would give in to none of their pleas.

He kissed both their cheeks and then sent them upstairs.


	14. Stifled Practice

_Author's Note:_

_Hmmm....what to say about this one? I suppose I should let you all know that this chapter was written in a method that is very unlike the one I usually use. Usually, I have a strict outline. Events that must be depicted, and in what order, and how, etc. I used an outline with this chapter too, but only after a sizable piece of it was finished. Nothing that I had planned for the story as whole was changed in the end, though._

_I hope the length of this chapter will make up for the appalling amount of time it took for me to write it. There are six thousand words here. DX_

_Anyway, we are back to Near's point of view now. I myself was very happy about it; writing cool, logical Near felt like coming home after Mello's emotionality last chapter. Although...this effect may lessen in the future; Near could be beginning to lose some of that Ice Prince-y quality…_

_Enjoy!_

***

Chapter Fourteen - Stifled Practice

"_By starving emotions, we become humorless, rigid, and stereotyped; by repressing them we become literal, reformatory, and holier-than-thou; encouraged, they perfume life; discouraged, they poison it."_

_- Dr. Joseph Collins_

For the first time in his life, Near felt stupid. Admittedly, Near's definition of stupid was vastly different from the general population's definition. To the average person, the word 'stupid' meant mentally deficient. A brain capable of less than a normal person's. To Near, 'stupid' _was_ a normal person's brain.

For example, a normal person would not be expected to find the square root of 733 in an instant. No one would frown on the average Tom, Dick, or Larry for picking up a calculator to find the answer.

But Near's hand _shook _with frustration as he punched the keys.

Near was a genius. Some might even call him a genius among genii. He routinely performed feats of mental capacity that made others around him ooh and ahh with astonishment. Even when the others were well above average themselves. In every class Near had ever taken, he left his classmates in the dust. Near was reading Shakespeare at four, studying Newtonian physics at seven.

And here he sat, needing _help _to solve a problem of simple arithmetic.

To say that Near didn't like it would be a huge understatement. Near valued his intelligence above any other quality he possessed. He used it as both shield and spear, wrapped it around himself like a security blanket. Every day of his life, Near relied on his mind. To find it failing him was nothing short of infuriating.

27.0739727

Near stared at the numbers on his calculator screen with a flat disgust. Nate River, the smartest child at Wammy's Institute. How the mighty had fallen.

Gradually, Near's attention was turned back to his classroom. His teacher was discussing some obscure branch of calculus, pontificating wildly and brandishing his pointer.

Near couldn't even pretend to follow the lecture. What was the point? Clearly today was not Near's day for intellectual growth.

L would smile and shake his head if he saw Near now. He would explain that of course Near was still intelligent, there was nothing to be upset about. Everyone's brain draws blanks on occasion. Near would be right back to his old self again quite soon. Then L would stuff a lollipop into his mouth and wander away.

L. Near hadn't lost so much of his intelligence yet that he couldn't understand what was happening. It was happening right now, after all. Under his very nose.

L was driving Near to distraction. He would pop into Near's head at the slightest provocation. Looking at any dessert, for example, immediately conjured up L's image. Laptop computers. Baggy jeans. Sometimes, Near would read something and wonder what L would think about the idea before he wondered what he _himself_ thought about it.

That last bit was particularly galling. Near was not used to putting others before himself.

Instead of remaining the place for creating, processing, and storing ideas that it had always been, Near's mind was rapidly becoming a playground. A playground in which all the swing sets, monkey bars, slides, and merry-go-rounds were devoted to a single messy-haired, pale-skinned, emaciated detective.

Near was under no illusions about the situation. L was the reason for his recent foray into stupidity.

No...that wasn't accurate. The _thought_ of L was the reason for Near's recent foray into stupidity. The man himself was not invading Near's mind, after all. (And what a gruesome image it would be if he were.) L was probably in his office right now, far away from Near's calculus classroom. It was only the idea of him that was close, shooting between the spaces of Near's neurons and permeating the area of his brain.

The idea of someone else taking control of his mind made Near angry. It was Near's _mind _- no one should govern it but Near himself. The thought of someone else coming in and setting up shop made Near's skin crawl. And even the idea that he was angry about it made Near angrier. His consciousness was rapidly becoming a chaotic spiral. Near would be thinking about something, something _important_, and then L's eyes or L's hands or L's mouth would enter the picture and sweep everything away.

He felt disordered and vulnerable, and both feelings were ones that Near despised. If not for the presence of his classmates and his teacher, Near would be clawing at the walls this very second. He felt miserable like this.

But at the same time...

At the same time, Near was the happiest he had ever felt. There was a glow inside of him. He was conscious of it wherever he went, a warm weight in his chest that was surprisingly dynamic, changing and shifting like quicksilver. It swelled spectacularly when he thought of L's smile. Rose buoyantly and warmed when Near considered those times he had hugged him. Smoldered with the heat of a banked fire when Near considered doing more than hugging...

Yes, Near could feel the change very palpably. To go along with the changes in his mind, there were no shortage of physical changes as well. It was when Near cast his mind back to that night in the dining room that those changes were worst. Sometimes when he thought about it, Near's stomach swooped violently, almost as if he was going to be sick. But the swoop was _pleasant_. Of all the things that had happened that night, Near of course focused on L's kiss most. And when it had happened...when their lips had finally met...it was with a feeling unlike anything Near had ever known. Such a delicious feeling it was - like Near had everything he could possibly want and yet at the same time anticipate so much more.

It was clear that Near's happiness had changed him. A few days ago, about two weeks after that momentous night in the dining room, Near had found that one of his model trains had gone missing. It was his absolute favorite: a shiny red one, with silver plated window-latches and chrome wheels. Near had no idea how he could have misplaced the thing and he searched and searched for it. He looked not only in his room but also in the library and his classrooms as well. He couldn't find the train anywhere. But instead of becoming frustrated, Near simply shrugged to himself. Near had _L _now. How could he possibly be upset over a _toy_?

There was one thing that Near _could_ be upset about, and that was Mello. But Near refused to think of him. Letting his mind become consumed with L was one thing. Thinking about L was pleasant, at least. But Near would be damned if he spent one minute of his day with Mello on his mind. Near had agreed to the arrangement that L proposed - despite his misgivings - and he would live with that decision. If he let himself, Near knew he would worry continuously about the threat Mello posed. He would obsess over how much L really felt for him, or didn't feel. But Near refused to do so. There was nothing he would gain by worrying.

Near wouldn't even let himself consider any strategy for pushing Mello away. L had told Near that he needed to be nothing but what he was, and Near had taken it to heart. From now on, when Near was with L, he would only be himself. And being himself required no strategizing or planning. L would either like what Near was or he wouldn't. Besides, Near knew that he could not continue to pretend be someone else forever. His true colors would show sooner or later...and if L had come to like him when they hadn't, what would he think about Near when they finally did? Being himself was the right thing to do.

Being himself would work. It had to.

***

On the day of the meeting, Near put on a watch. It was the first time he ever had; Near didn't particularly care for them. He had no need to know the exact time at any given instant during his day. Near trusted his internal clock enough to get him where he needed to be whenever he needed to be there. Near had always been confident in it. His internal clock had never failed him before.

But today...today Near was not so confident. He was counting on making it to L's office early, at least fifteen minutes before the time that L had specified. Doing so was of the utmost importance. If Near was late, or even just on time, Mello would be sure to have greeted L before him. And that scenario was to be avoided at all costs. Near knew what Mello's idea of a "greeting" would be...precisely because he himself had the very same idea. Near didn't know why he suddenly had less than complete trust in himself, all he knew was that he did. So to make absolutely sure that he was in L's office _first_, Near had strapped two bands of leather and a timepiece onto his wrist. The watch itched a little, but Near thought the discomfort was worth it.

It was now twenty-two minutes before three o'clock, L's appointed time to meet. Near gave the model airplane in his hand one last go-round, then dropped it onto his bed and left his room. Some part of him was fighting to stay inside the safety of the place. A little voice in his head whispered about how much more secure Near would be there, and how uncertain his next few hours would be if he went away. How much could go wrong if he made he slightest mistake. But Near squashed that part of him down viciously. Now was not the time to indulge his anti-social tendencies.

As he climbed the stairs, Near made an effort to stand as straight and tall as he could. He consciously picked up his feet as he walked instead of moving along with his usual shuffling step. He had read somewhere that presenting oneself as a confident person could actually create confidence in times of uncertainty. Near didn't know whether that was true or not, but he figured that trying it out couldn't hurt.

When he reached the top of the stairs, Near checked his watch. 2:45 pm on the dot. He was exactly fifteen minutes early. The door to L's office was just down the hall, right in the corner. He had done it.

Near looked up from his watch, ready to cut a path directly to L. But when he did...he realized that getting to L might be more difficult than he had originally anticipated.

Directly across from the stairway that Near had just climbed there was another stairway, an exact reflection of the first. And in the exact middle of that staircase stood Mello. He was wearing all black again, a backpack slung over his shoulder. He looked as shocked as Near felt.

For a split second, the pair of them stared at each other. Neither spoke. Time seemed to stop, and all was quiet in the corridor. And then bam! Near realized what he was doing. From the expression on Mello's face, it looked like the same realization had slammed into him too. As one, they took off down the hallway.

Near knew that Mello had an edge. Breathing hard after going only halfway, he looked right and saw Mello just a hair ahead of him, looking frantic but still physically comfortable. To combat his disadvantage, Near deliberately ran at angle. The right side of his body hit Mello's and knocked him off course.

"Dammit, Near!" Mello shouted, dropping his backpack. Instead of stopping to pick it up, Mello left it where it lay, regaining his stride and pushing back against Near in retaliation.

After that, it was a fierce race to the finish. Both of them rammed into each other every few steps, hoping to knock the other down but never really succeeding.

Mello reached L's door first, but before he could wrench it open, Near's hands got a handle on the knob. He and Mello fought hard to get a proper grip and fought hard to push the other out of the way as well. In the back of his mind, Near absently recognized how ridiculous their scuffle must have looked.

That didn't stop him from continuing in it.

Eventually Near _did_ manage to yank the door open. As he pulled the door forward, he tried to push it back against Mello and ensure a clear path to L for himself. Mello was quicker than Near anticipated, though, and he maneuvered away from the door just in time to squeeze into the frame along with Near. After some more squabbling, the both of them popped into the room and another mad dash ensued.

L was in his usual place at his desk. Rays of red-gold sunlight shining around him from the window to his right. L was the picture of thoughtfulness, staring at his laptop and drinking from a teacup. He looked completely unprepared to have two pubescent young boys flying at him.

Near threw himself at L in the same moment that Mello did, and in all the commotion, neither of them could find his lips. They were each forced to kiss whichever bit of L they could reach. Near hit L's shoulder first, then his neck. He eventually managed to touch his lips to L's cheek, and that was good, but that was also where the fun ended.

Near realized that he had heard muffled sounds as he was fighting to kiss L. Originally he had assumed that they were caused by Mello and his frustration at being thwarted. But now Near realized that they were instead caused by L and _his _frustration. L was pushing the two of them away, backing away in his chair as he did so. He didn't look angry...but neither did he look pleased. He gave a sigh and ran one hand through the black spikes of his hair, pushing him into further disarray.

"I don't think this is the time, boys," L said. His voice was firm. "I haven't forgotten what we've agreed to, but you also cannot forget what we need to accomplish. I need an heir...and I need you both to remember that now."

Near was disgusted with himself. Of course L wouldn't appreciate being mauled the very second that Near saw him. Near's plan to reach L first was a bad one. He should have left Mello to that, should have let Mello do his damage, and then walked in calmly and greeted L with dignity. Now, Near looked no better than his competition.

But no matter. Near's blunder wasn't the end of the world. He could make up for it later.

Near and Mello took their seats in front of L's desk. By now, Near had grown accustomed to the worn leather of the upholstery and the brass domes along the arms. He curled one leg up onto his seat and was comfortable.

L returned his chair to its original place behind his laptop. Instead of sitting down in it again, though, he ducked down to the floor, hidden from sight. Near wondered what L could be doing. He heard the rustling of crisp paper and then saw L emerge from behind the desk. In his hands were two packets of loose paper.

From across the desk, L passed the packet in his right hand to Near and the one in his left to Mello. When Near looked down at it, he saw block letters printed in black.

In the top center was L's gothic-font insignia. Just underneath that were the words _Special Services and Duties - Assistant_.

"I have two tasks to accomplish in today's meeting," said L. "First, I would like to familiarize both of you with some of the more practical aspects of L. I have an assistant, as you know - Mr. Wammy, who also happens to be the founder of this institute. The papers in your hands outline some of what he does for me and how he operates while maintaining the secret of my identity."

Near flipped through the pages quickly. He saw long, detailed outlines, and caught words like "procedure" and "maintenance." He felt his interest in the proceedings begin to wane. In fact, it had been steadily dropping ever since L had mentioned practicality. Near had no interest in being practical. Not in his own life and not with L either.

"Secondly," L continued. "I want to question you about some of your philosophies. Those that would directly affect you in your work as a detective. I feel that this is an area in which I have been sorely negligent."

From the corner of his eye, Near saw Mello fidget in his seat. The packet of papers that L had given him were already lying forgotten on the arm of his chair.

"So," L said authoritatively. "To begin. If you'll both turn to page two…"

Near almost couldn't believe what followed. L gave him and Mello an explanation of his assistant's duties and responsibilities, _page by page_. He went over Mr. Wammy's living situation, how he planned L's travel arrangements, where and when he shopped for L, when he met with national police agencies, how he contacted them, the manner in which he accepted and rejected cases, how he and L communicated when they were apart from one another…L did everything but read the packet to them verbatim.

Near never thought that L could be boring, but this was pushing things. Near wouldn't let himself show his impatience, and he tried to look as interested in the proceedings as he could. Twenty minutes into the meeting, though, he was ready for it to end. Near didn't have to look at Mello to tell that he felt the same. Mello had been sighing, shifting, and coughing ever since L began detailing Mr. Wammy's wide network of government contacts (it stretched across five continents and thirty-seven countries).

Shaking himself mentally, Near forced himself to refocus on L's words.

"On page nineteen," L was saying, "you will each find a list of the airlines that Mr. Wammy prefers. Many of them offer their services free of charge, in exchange for control of a few key patents he owns. When the time comes for L's successor to take over, I imagine that Mr. Wammy himself will be retired…but the next assistant – whenever you select them - will surely want to maintain the connections he has nurtured. British Airways in particular…"

Just when Near was feeling his attention slipping once again, he heard a sound from his right. It was Mello. Near turned to look at him and saw that his expression exactly matched the noise he'd made: it was pained and pleading.

"Is something the matter, Mello?" L asked. He looked up from his computer, making eye contact for the first time in ten minutes.

In addition to looking pained, Mello now looked appalled. He stared open-mouthed at L for a time before finding it in himself to speak.

"I...well…" Mello said, sounding like he was searching for the right words. "Maybe we've focused enough on assistants for now?"

Near wanted to hate Mello for implying that L was boring him. He really did. But he found that the only feeling in him at the moment was thankfulness. Near didn't know how much longer he could have listened to L point out every nuance and subtlety of Quillish Wammy's bakery shopping. Near didn't _care _about how he got a fifty percent discount on some American bakery's scones.

It wasn't even just the topic – though that was definitely a large part of Near's boredom. It was that L himself called attention away from his words. Near was sure that he was unaware of it, too. Which only served to make the distraction that much more potent. L wasn't _trying _to call attention to his lips by sipping from that teacup. He wasn't _trying _to accentuate his white neck by swallowing so languidly. He wasn't _trying_ to fill Near's head with thoughts worthy of a person far beyond his years. And yet he did so anyway.

Near shouldn't have been surprised; L drove him to distraction even when he _wasn't_ four feet away.

But Near still hadn't gotten used to the sensations that L inspired in him. Being with him, here in person, only made the effects worse. The warm weight in his chest seemed to have grown legs. Near could feel it pacing anxiously inside of him, flexing its claws and tossing its head back and forth impatiently.

"Hmm…" L murmured, turning back to his laptop screen. His eyebrows came together slightly and a small frown appeared at his mouth. He looked somehow discouraged. "Perhaps you are correct. Let's turn to the second reason that I wanted to meet with the two of you today."

Near tried to calm himself. He sat up straighter in his chair, taking a deep breath. He had a job to do here. He still wanted L's position, didn't he? He needed to focus, or Mello would snatch victory out from underneath his feet.

It would be easier if L would go away for awhile, though. Even though he had returned to denying eye contact…even though he was clearly business-minded now…Near couldn't look away from him.

"I really only have two questions," said L. "The first concerns your methods. You undoubtedly know that a detective relies on observation primarily. When that fails, however, he must turn to interrogation. There is not a criminal in the world who does not try to hide his wrongdoing – at least for time. It will be your job to uncover the truth of his actions, and for that you will often need to question him or his acquaintances. My question is this: what methods do you use to persuade him to speak?"

Mello answered promptly. "Whatever works." he said.

Near reflected for a moment before giving his answer. "Agreed," he said. "Whatever works."

Staring at the top of his desk intently, L cocked his ear. "You both agree on this. Interesting. And neither of you are bothered by the implications of your answers? Torture, for example, doesn't give you pause? Not coercion or extortion either?"

It took a moment for Near to rein his mind in enough to process L's questions. And a moment more for him to construct a suitable answer.

"As L…" Near began. "As L, we wouldn't be dealing with criminals who had stolen from drugstores or lied about their taxes. We would be dealing with the world's worst. And to stop them, nothing should be off limits."

"I see," L said, sounding like he didn't see at all. "And Mello, do you agree?"

Mello gave one sharp nod. "Yes. We can't have limits. If we did, we might miss cases. Miss some criminals along the way."

L was silent for a few seconds.

"I see," he said again. "Now for the second question. This one is considerably more open-ended. I wonder if either of you have ever considered it before…Is there anything that would make you end your work as L once you started? Anything at all? Put another way, do you believe you could function as the world's best detective under any circumstances?"

Near _hadn't_ ever considered the question before. Was there anything that would cause him to quit being L? He had no idea. He didn't think that there was…but he wasn't sure. How was he to know with certainty that he could do L's job under any circumstances? He didn't even know if he could do L's job under the _current_ circumstances.

What answer would L appreciate in his heir more? Would L be impressed by Near's confidence if Near said that he could be L at any time, any where? And would he be disappointed if Near voiced reservations about his capabilities? Or would L be impressed by Near's humility if he thought that there might be times when the job was too much for him? Would he be disappointed if Near was arrogant enough to say anything else?

Near couldn't know. And he really didn't care to give much thought to the question anyway. There were other things that he was looking forward to when this meeting was over…he wanted it finished as quickly as possible.

So Near decided to tell the truth. He didn't have any basis to do anything else. Even if his answer wasn't what L wanted, at least his honesty would count for something.

"I don't know," Near said. "I don't know."

"I don't know either," said Mello hurriedly. He scooted forward in his chair, looking ready to leap out of it at the first available opportunity.

L looked up at the pair of them. Near expected him to smirk or sigh at Mello's obvious eagerness, but instead L's eyes turned to Near himself. Near was met with the piercing black of them, so very like his own, and yet so very different. Near didn't know why L was looking at him so purposefully. Did he look less composed than he thought he did? Was it possible that Near's desire was even more obvious than Mello's was?

When L finally looked away from Near, his jaw was set resolutely. He looked across to Mello and held his eyes for a time, though it was for a shorter time than he had done so with Near.

Then L returned his gaze to his computer. "I think today's meeting has concluded. Or… should I say, concluded itself?"

Near didn't know what that meant, exactly. Was L inviting he and Mello to attack him again? Was he simply dismissing them? Without a kiss, or a hug, or anything?

"Mello," L said. "Would you please make certain that the door is locked?"

Oh. Apparently not.

Near felt his heart rate shoot up instantly. A locked door could only mean one thing: secrecy. And L would only want secrecy for one reason…

Mello scrambled out of his chair as though it were on fire. He checked that the door was firmly shut and pushed the dial on the lock as far closed as it would go. Then he rushed back to his seat, sitting down right on the edge.

When Mello was settled again, L looked back and forth between him and Near sternly.

"I told you both that I would do whatever I can…" he said. "And I meant that. But I will tell you now that you can't expect time with me like this on a regular basis. I happen to have a bit of time free after today's meeting, but that won't always be the case. I might only have time for a meeting in the future…and I'll still have to be away for weeks at a time."

Was that supposed to be discouraging? Near wondered who L thought he was kidding. His being _unavailable _didn't make him less desirable. If anything, it made him more.

"I understand, L." Mello said. Near noted with disgust that he was fairly bouncing in his chair. "I'm fine with that. You don't have to explain."

Near was delighted, though, to see L push his chair back from his desk and stand up. Without a word, L walked around his desk and crossed the office to the back wall, where a burgundy sofa was tucked into a corner. It was simple-looking but also plush. Pillows lay against both the armrests. There was a blue and white patterned rug in front of the sofa, and an end table to one side.

L sat down on the middle cushion of the couch. Near noticed that he wasn't sitting in his usual manner, with his legs curled up to his chest. Instead, both of L's feet were firmly on the floor. His knees were just a bit more than shoulder width apart. Slouching slightly against the couch's back, Near thought he looked more divine than any human being should.

He and Mello remained in their chairs, craning their necks to see L behind them. Near didn't know whether L wanted them to join him or if he simply needed space to think.

As the pair of them watched, L looked up from under his eyelashes and then glanced back down to the couch.

If that wasn't a tacit invitation, Near didn't know what was.

Near and Mello apparently had a penchant for moving in sync today. They both immediately jumped out of their chairs and made their way hastily to L. Near sat to L's left and Mello to his right.

Near didn't waste any time in continuing what he had started earlier. He knew Mello would be doing the same, and he tried his hardest to make the sensations on L's left side pale in comparison to the ones he was experiencing on his right.

"Don't either of you want to…mfph…" said L. "Just talk…or…wait a bit before…?"

Neither Mello nor Near bothered to respond.

Near had had enough of talking. It had been an hour since his lips had last touched L and he had no intention of making that hour longer, letting more time pass by with words when actions were vastly more enjoyable. And communicated more besides.

Even now, though, Near could not do as he pleased. He wanted to touch his lips to L's once more, had been wanting it for weeks now. But having Mello in the way made kissing L's mouth impossible. Near made sure that Mello would be similarly handicapped, though. He wrapped an arm across L's shoulders, ensuring that Mello could do no more than reach L's cheek when he went in for a kiss.

Near himself settled for L's collarbone. A good portion of it was exposed just above the neck of L's white shirt. Near dotted the length with kisses, hoping his lack of expertise could be compensated for with enthusiasm.

But doing this was far too difficult while Near was sitting down. He had to tilt his head back at a painful angle and stretch his torso as far as it would go.

So Near pulled his legs up underneath him and came to his kneel on the cushions. And after he did so, Near rejoiced. He now had a substantial advantage over Mello. Mello still couldn't kiss L's lips – but Near _could_. He could get to L's mouth from above!

Before he missed his chance, Near swooped down and pushed their lips together.

It was even better than the time in the dining room. Near felt his stomach flip and his muscles all tense and tighten as one. L was so…so…so everything. Near had always dismissed the notion of chemical energy or electricity between people as poetic nonsense. But right now, he could have sworn he felt sparks on L's lips as they moved. And when Near heard L hum lowly, he could have sworn that it was in pleasure.

Distantly, Near knew that Mello was making various sounds of outrage beside him. He made no move to stop, though, and even smiled into the kiss. Near wasn't self-conscious. Let Mello see what he and L were doing. Let Mello see how connected they were, and let Mello envy Near for it.

Just when Near had worked up the courage to run his tongue across L's bottom lip, he heard – and felt – a rustling to his left. L suddenly pulled away, ripping his mouth from Near's.

Mello was no longer at L's side. He was now _on L's lap_.

Straddling his right thigh, to be precise. Near was horrified at the sight and horrified that Mello's audacious position had been enough to distract L from his lips. Near would have shoved Mello off immediately if it weren't for the knowledge of how L would react.

But as bad as seeing Mello so close to L was…it was nowhere near as bad as it was seeing L raising the heel of his foot off the ground and bring his thigh up to meet the space between Mello's legs.

Near saw Mello whimper and listened as L inhaled sharply.

L couldn't…he couldn't _want_ that, could he? Near knew what must have been happening to Mello down there at the moment (he could feel the same thing happening to himself, after all), and instead of L being repulsed by feeling it, he seemed _eager_ to.

If there was anything Near had learned the past few years, it was that two could play the same game. If L wanted that kind of contact from Mello, he would surely not object to getting it from Near.

Near threw one of his legs over L's free thigh. He sat down and pushed himself firmly against it, attacking L's neck with kisses. Clearly Near had to overload L with sensation to compensate for Mello's impudence.

L's leg jerked under Near, and Near felt one of his hands come to wrap around his hip. The hand clutched at him compulsively, fingers digging into the material of Near's trousers, almost to the point of pain. Near loved every moment. L was responding to him. L was _wanting_ him.

Near scooted closer, bringing himself higher up on L's leg, grinding down on it as he did so. It felt so _good_…Near had never felt any sensation more pleasant than the one he felt between his legs now. Near wanted to do this forever.

Just when he was getting lost in the feelings his own movements brought, Near felt the hand at his hip slide up and underneath his shirt. Short, bitten nails sank into his skin and Near couldn't help moaning into L's neck. Oh God, he hoped L would do more. Anything. Anything at all to keep this stirring in his blood from subsiding.

But for a long time, the only things that Near could sense were the touches he was already conscious of and Mello's all-too-frequent whines and groans.

And then it happened: Near felt L's fingertips slip into the waistband of his trousers and shortpants…and his brain promptly became nothing more than a thick cloud of fog.

If those fingers would just come forward, just a few inches, Near would feel them where he most wanted to. They would touch where it was sure to feel heavenly, where no one else had ever touched him before.

Such a short distance…just a bit more…

Suddenly Near felt L struggling below him. The fingers inside his waistband withdrew and L's hand instead planted itself against Near's chest, pushing him gently but firmly away. Near found himself off L's lap and off the couch in no time, standing hopelessly in front of both. He saw that Mello was beside him, hair in disarray and eyes staring unfocusedly at the wall.

L was bent almost double, hands against the seat cushions, eyes wide and unseeing. His voice was rough when he spoke, and his chest was heaving with deep breaths.

"I think you both should go," he said.

Near saw Mello's gaze snap to L. "What? No! We -"

But L shook his head quickly, cutting Mello's words short. "It's time for you leave. I will see you both at another time….please don't argue. Just do as I say."

There was nothing left for Near, or for Mello, to say. It was clear that L wanted to be alone.

Before he left, Near couldn't resist pressing one last kiss to L's cheek. When he did, he felt L shudder underneath his lips.

***

_Man, these kids are eager. But then, who wouldn't be? L Lawliet? Come on. You know you want him too. :P _

_I apologize for any typos that might be left here. It's 3 AM and I really doubt that I'm alert enough to catch all of them._

_I would like to thank a certain someone for motivating me to Get This Done. Once I got going, the words came really quickly, whereas before they were just WOULDN'T. Who knew competition was what I needed all along?_

_I also want to thank everyone who's left reviews so far. I appreciate all of your comments, and I hope I'll hear more of them soon!_


	15. Suspicious Characters

_Author's Note:_

_This chapter picks up just where the last one left off - one day later. I can't believe that it's been so long since the last update - I apologize. I wish I could say that my being an Extremely Busy and Important person was the reason...but sadly, it's just because I suck and couldn't get words onto the page for whole weeks at a time. DX_

_This chapter completely defied the outline. It Basically just glanced cursorily at all my lists and notes, scoffed heartily, and went off and did its own thing. *sighs* I don't know, I really don't. So if you find yourselves wondering about a few things...rest assured, I'm wondering about them too._

***

Chapter Fifteen - Suspicious Characters

"_Multorum te etiam oculi et aures non sentientem, sicuti adhuc fecerunt, speculabuntur atque custodient." _

_- Marcus Tullius Cicero, Orationes In Catilinam_

_(Without your knowledge, the eyes and ears of many will see and watch you, as they have done already.)_

Mello was planning. This was nothing new, of course. Mello had been planning things almost since birth - it came naturally to him. Mello's imagination and intellect lent itself to strategy and tactics: he could envision the ways that things would play out with a slight twist here or a slight turn there. His insights into the mechanics of an environment were reliable; his insights into the mechanics of people impeccable (with the notable exceptions of L and Near). So Mello was able to dream up huge scenarios whenever he wanted and see many situations in his mind before he saw them play out in the outside world.

But for all of Mello's planning, he very frequently acted on impulse. His decision to come live at Wammy's House was a perfect example. Mello had met with Roger and heard his offer and then he'd accepted it in five minutes flat. And this was despite all the plans that Mello had previously made regarding how to become the top dog at his first orphanage. They disappeared with a _poof _and a puff of smoke when something better had come along. And even Mello's time at Wammy's House itself was an example of his impulsive nature. In the beginning, Mello had planned to work hard, surpass Near, and gain L's title by whatever means necessary. And now...

Now Mello was pacing along a corridor on the first floor, ready to do something that was not at all related to gaining L's title.

He counted his steps in the back of his mind as he walked, trying to distract himself by keeping a perfectly even beat. _One, two, three, four..pause, pivot, and again...step, step, step, step.... _It wasn't an amusing pastime. But if Mello didn't keep his brain occupied with something besides what he was about to do, he was apt to never do it.

Matt had made it clear to Mello that he really _shouldn't _do it. Earlier in the day, when Mello had announced his intentions, Matt had raised an eyebrow and coughed. In Matt-speak, that meant that Mello's idea was one of the worst he'd ever heard and that nobody in their right mind would try it.

For his less than encouraging response, Mello had promptly flung a pillow at Matt where he lay in front of the television. Matt was Mello's best friend! Surely he could find it in himself to be supportive - especially when Mello's whole happiness depended on this scheme.

But Matt had just looked at Mello after the pillow hit him, shaking his head and sighing.

"I know that you're pretty much head over heels insane for L, Mello. I get that. But really...tracking down Mr. Wammy? Are you completely mental?"

Mello didn't take kindly to the insinuation that his plan was ridiculous. Matt got another pillow to the temple. When it made contact, it was met with the same indifference that the first pillow was.

Matt's lack of reaction didn't improve Mello's mood.

"I'm _not _completely mental, Matt." Mello said sullenly. "It only makes sense. How else am I to find L? His office door has been locked all this time, he's not in that secret room his keeps for himself, I haven't seen him coming or going...but I _know _that he's still here. L promised that he wouldn't just take off without telling us and L wouldn't lie. Mr. Wammy is the only one who always knows where he is!"

"I get that, too, Mello." Matt said patiently. "What _you _don't get is that Mr. Wammy won't just _tell_ you where L is. If L doesn't want to see you, what makes you think that Mr. Wammy would go and violate his wishes just because you waltzed into his office and asked him to?"

Mello didn't like what Matt was saying - mostly because it made sense.

"Just drop it, Matt." he said. "I have to do this and I'm going to. I'm Mello. I'll find a way."

But now that Mello was really here, in the hall, he was finding it difficult to feel the same bravado he'd felt then. It felt like the rich colors surrounding him were only there to challenge him. The cherry wood that formed the hallway walls seemed to mock him - the warm burgundy a gross exaggeration of comfort. The deep navy and olive green swirls on the carpet made Mello feel foreign and out of his league, though he knew that they were made to feel inviting.

The odds were against Mello, no doubt about it. Mr. Wammy was about as likely to give up L's whereabouts as he was likely to abandon him. And Mello knew there was little chance of that. By all accounts, Mr. Wammy was loyal to L to a fault. The man followed him everywhere and did nearly everything for him. This mission was going to be...terribly difficult.

Mello almost felt his resolve crumble. No way was this going to work. He should just go back to his bedroom and try to devise some other plan. One that had some chance of success.

But Mello was nothing if not determined. If he abandoned this now, who knew when he'd get another chance? And as unlikely as this was to work...how likely was it that Mello would be able to think up something better? He'd already exhausted himself by going through the options and weighing the odds for this one. No way was he going to spend another night lying awake, tossing and turning while he went over some other plan of action.

And besides...Mello had a good feeling about this. Not a good feeling in the sense that he felt he would get what he wanted, exactly. Just a feeling that he _should_. Mello felt that if he didn't do this, he would be making a big mistake.

Near would sneer at Mello's reasoning. Or rather, his lack thereof. Near would say that it was foolish for Mello to act on a feeling - that he ought to weigh objective pros and cons and follow through on what his brain told him was best. That the heart was fickle and the mind was firm.

There were times when Mello could pull his hair out thinking of Near. He either made Mello feel inferior or frustrated in the extreme. Very often both. There was so much that Near understood, more than anyone his age could be expected to. Mello wasn't so entrenched in their rivalry that he couldn't recognize Near's gifts. At the same time, though, there was so many things about which Near was just...downright stupid. He could calculate the probability of any occurrence under the sun, but he couldn't understand fear. He could write a dissertation tomorrow on the language of a Shakespearean sonnet but there wasn't a chance of him really comprehending the feeling behind it. Near was so far above the people around him and at the same time, he was so far below.

And that was why Near wouldn't be able to understand that Mello _needed _this. Even if it wasn't what made sense. He had to do it, and that was that. To stop himself would have been incomprehensible.

Mello stepped up to the door on his right, his mind made up. Mr. Wammy would be inside and...and Mello would try his damnedest to get L's whereabouts. He was fourteen, only one year away from Wammy Adult status. He could do this. Mello raised a fist to the oak, giving the wood three sharp raps. He didn't allow himself to hesitate even there.

The sound of soft coughing came from behind the door, getting louder, as if the person doing it was coming closer and closer. Mello suddenly felt anxiety snatch him up in its grasp. What if Mr. Wammy had a secretary? What if Mello was expected to make an appointment before talking to him? What if Mello was turned away instantly for disregarding protocol?

Mello stood in front of the door immobile, his heart was pounding. There was no time now to change anything. Whoever it was inside already knew that Mello was here and they would be pulling the door open in four...three...two...one...

The door swung open inwardly and Mello was met with a man that he knew must be Mr. Wammy.

The man appeared elderly: silvery white hair grew pervasively on his head, in his mustache. Even his eyebrows were pure grey. But for all that colorlessness, the man's face only bore a handful of lines. Mello could see a few wrinkles at the corners of his eyes and deeply set laugh lines - that was all. And the man held himself with excellent posture. His shoulders were broad and rolled back, hands held neatly behind him. He was wearing a crisp, black three piece suit and shiny black dress shoes. Glasses with round, sliver frames rested on the bridge of his nose.

Mr. Wammy gave off an air of cordiality and readiness, almost as if he were a servant, and Mello felt his nervousness dissipate. He and Mr. Wammy were strangers but at least Mello could be confident that the man wouldn't shout at him when Mello asked his questions.

In fact, the only thing about Mr. Wammy that gave Mello pause were his eyes. Or rather, Mello's inability to see them. Perhaps to add to his air of servitude, Mr. Wammy's expression was demure in the extreme. Though he kept his head held high, his eyes were trained on the floor, which made seeing underneath the lids almost impossible. It made Mello a bit wary. It was hard for him to judge a person's reactions without using their eyes as cues.

"Mr. Kheel." said Mr. Wammy. "It is nice to meet you at last."

Mr. Wammy's mustache bristled a bit as he spoke, an effect that made Mello suddenly wonder what his grandfather must have looked like. Mello had seen a picture of his parents, but never images of any other relatives. He felt an absurd wish rise up inside himself: that whoever his grandfather was, he had a thick mustache that shook when he talked.

Mello stuttered over his words when he replied.

"It's...n-nice to meet you too, sir. I've heard great things about you."

Mello fancied that he could see a small smile paint itself across Mr. Wammy's lips.

"Have you, now?" Mr. Wammy asked. "L is far too grateful for his sucrose. He would tell you that I was the Incarnation of the Second Coming if it meant one more treacle tart."

Mello supposed that he was expected to laugh at this remark, and he chuckled politely. In reality, though, he was still too nervous to feel genuinely amused. Two minutes into meeting the man, and they were already discussing L. It was like he _knew. _

"I was wondering if I might come inside, Mr. Wammy?" Mello asked.

"Of course, Mr. Kheel." Mr. Wammy said with a smile. He stood aside for Mello to pass.

Mr. Wammy's office was nearly identical to the one that L kept for himself upstairs. It was furnished with the same carpet, the same lamps were strewn about. One large desk dominated the room, and one laptop sat primly atop it. Mello was amazed at the similarity in their tastes. Did Mr. Wammy's history with L go back farther than Mello had originally supposed? Maybe Mr. Wammy was L's guardian, and not just his assistant...maybe Mr. Wammy was L's _father_...

It was suddenly much more uncomfortable for Mello to be in the same room with the man. If Mr. Wammy cared for L the way that a parent did...there was no way that he would give up L's whereabouts.

Because the reasons that Mello had for wanting to find L were less than wholesome. Mello wasn't here to get L's help on his science homework, after all. In all honesty...Mello wanted to find L in order to seduce him.

The afternoon before, Mello and Near had gone to L's office as part of their regularly scheduled meetings for successor-ship. The meeting went as well as could be expected, fraught as it was with the tension between Mello and Near. They were both competing for L in so many ways - and all three of them knew it. It was impossible that the dynamics of L's relationship with them would remain unchanged. And at the end of the meeting, Mello and Near had been allowed to...well, Mello supposed that the technical term was..."jump" him.

Only it hadn't gotten nearly as far as Mello wanted. Mello was able to get in a few kisses...one truly glorious space of time in which he was atop L's lap...and just as he could feel L responding to his touch, and breathing harshly, and pulling him closer...just then, L pushed him away. Near too. The pair of them were left aching and confused and nearly out of their minds with lust - but it didn't matter. L had dismissed them straightaway.

Mello couldn't take that. He _wouldn't_. As far as he was concerned, it was _wrong_ for L to treat him that way. It was disrespecting him. Mello would never have left someone that he cared about in such a state and there was no reason for L to do the same to him. Mello (and Near too, damn him) were mature enough to ask for what they wanted. And L had agreed to do all that he could for them. Didn't that include going all the way? And, barring that, at least giving Mello a little relief?

So Mello was going to track the man down and get what was his due. He hadn't been able to sleep a wink since yesterday afternoon - he'd spent the night looking for L. After searching his office, his private spare room, the library, the dining room, the foyer, _and _the backyard...Mello had given up and devised his plan.

It was time for L to deliver on what his lips and tongue and hands had promised that evening.

Mello seated himself on one of the two leather chairs in front of Mr. Wammy's desk. They were just as comfortable as the ones in L's office. To Mello's surprise, Mr. Wammy himself took a seat in the empty one to his right, forgoing the executive armchair that was obviously meant for him.

"Would you care for any tea, Mr. Kheel?" asked Mr. Wammy. He gestured to a small end table in between their two chairs, where a teapot, four cups, milk, sugar and saucers lay waiting. Mello could see steam rising from the pot. It was almost as if Mr. Wammy had known when he was coming...

"No - thank you, though, sir." Mello said haltingly. He must be overreacting. Mr. Wammy could afford to keep hot tea in his office at all hours - the man was rich enough for anything his heart desired. He was simply offering Mello what he would have offered anyone who cared to stop by.

But Wammy's gentility was making Mello uneasy. How could he ask the man, however indirectly, to help him seduce L? It was like asking the Pope to help you organize a heist!

Mr. Wammy busied himself with pouring tea into a single cup. Mello noticed that he drank it without milk or sugar, and without cooling it first. From the tea spout to the cup and then to Mr. Wammy's lips, all in quick succession. That was the way it went.

Mr. Wammy was clearly stronger than his age implied.

"What can I do for you, Mr. Kheel?" he asked after half a cup. "There's nothing wrong, I trust?"

"No sir, nothing's...wrong." Mello answered, cursing his hesitation. Why did he have to be so unsure of himself? Especially at a time like this, when everything depended on his poise? "Well...what I mean is...there's nothing wrong that can't be put right."

"I see." said Mr. Wammy. Remarkably, it sounded as if he truly _did _see. "And this is something that can be put right only with my help?"

"Yes, sir. You see, there's a problem with...L." Mello hated the way that his heart was pounding. "I assume L has told you that Near and I..."

"That you are both candidates for his title?" asked Mr. Wammy. "Yes, I've known that for some time. L is very optimistic about the two of you."

"Yes." said Mello. "We're working very hard for him."

_Understatement of the century._

"L has told me that, too." said Mr. Wammy with a smile. "You've both done very well during your time here. I keep up with the standings as well as L does. You two have been at the top of the heap for quite a while now. But what is the problem?"

Mello swallowed. Now that it came down to it, could really do it? Could he make himself lie to a man who seemed so benevolent?

"The problem is...Near and I have...something we left with L. And we need to find him today and get it back." Mello said, settling for a half-truth instead. There _was _something that they had left with L. Nothing that was tangible, though.

Mr. Wammy raised his eyes to Mello's after this pronouncement, and Mello could finally see that they were a dull blue in color, the whites almost yellow with age. He studied Mello for a long time before responding.

"And you can't find L, is that correct? You need me to tell you where he is?"

Mello held his breath and nodded.

Mr. Wammy sighed and looked away. His teacup was still in hand, though it seemed completely forgotten now. It was less than half full, and the steam was dwindling.

"If you can't find L, it is because he doesn't want to be found." Mr. Wammy finally said.

Mello exhaled on a sigh. He had expected nothing less, after all.

"Yes, sir." he said. "It's just that...we _need _to."

Mello feared that a bit of desperation had bled into his voice there. It was difficult to say that without imagining _why _he and Near needed to find L - and that reason was enough to make a whore blush. All things considered, he was lucky he hadn't moaned as he said the words.

"The things that a boy thinks he needs at your age are often nothing more than things he desperately wants." said Mr. Wammy. He took the teapot up and again and set about refilling his cup. "And those things he often wants in a way that is less than cerebral."

Mello froze. Did Mr. Wammy....he _couldn't_...did L _tell _him? What a foolish thing to do!

Mr. Wammy looked at him over his teacup. "You're wondering how I know."

Mello gaped. Who _was _this man?

"He didn't tell me, if that's what you're thinking." Mr. Wammy said. He studied Mello gravely. "L would never betray your confidences."

Mello's blood was racing. This was the end of the line. Mr. Wammy must have seen the three of them, then. Somehow, he must have been watching. And that meant that they were caught, and that the game was up. Before it even began, too. What was Mello to do?

"Truthfully, it's your presence here that gives up the ghost." said Mr. Wammy. "Or I should say, your presence and Mr. River's letter."

"Near wrote a letter?" Mello parroted automatically. "To you?"

"He did." Mr. Wammy said simply. "He didn't tell me either, but with his request and yours...I can put two and two together. Two boys your age desperate to see their mentor? Both clearly nervous and high-strung? You're nearly trembling in your chair and Near was far too delicate in his letter. There's something you don't want to say. Something that involves spending time with L. I'm not so old that I can't remember such things, and recognize them when I see them again. Am I wrong?"

Mello had no idea what he was supposed to say. Should he admit it? That was nearly suicide. Should he deny everything? But that seemed so futile now...

Things were spiraling. None of this had gone as Mello had planned and he was beginning to feel that he'd made a terrible mistake. If only he'd listened to Matt - stayed in his room and just waited for the next meeting. None of this would have happened. The secret wouldn't have been leaked. And now someone knew - the _head_ of Wammy's House, no less. All because Mello couldn't control himself.

All because he and Near had behaved childishly. They were both determined to have L and get to him by any means necessary. Each denied their stick of gum, they went behind authority's back and tried to take it anyway. Neither of them had considered the consequences of their actions. And worse, Mello knew that neither of them would have cared even if they had. They were children.

Mello had never felt immature before, but now the feeling was slamming into him like a wrecking ball. He still had so much left to learn....

Mello looked to Mr. Wammy. There was an expression of sympathetic disapproval on his face.

"You needn't be so hard on yourself, Mr. Kheel. You are not to blame for your desires. Here." he said, filling a second cup with tea. "Drink some of this. When discussing something especially serious, it helps to have something to do with your hands."

Mello took the teacup and held it without sipping. It felt nice cradled in his hands, warming them. And Mr. Wammy was right - it was good to have them occupied with something. It made him feel a bit more controlled.

Mr. Wammy studied him solemnly for a while - staring at Mello as Mello stared down at his tea. It should have been awkward, Mello thought. But he found that it was more comforting than not. After such tumultuous speech before, he enjoyed just listening to the silence.

"Has L told you anything about what he's working on now?" Mr. Wammy suddenly asked.

Mello shook his head. L never told them much about his cases. He'd always been very private about them.

Mr. Wammy sighed. "I wish he would share more with the two of you. It would make your situation so much easier. You must forgive L for his closeness, though, Mr. Kheel. He's not used to sharing anything more than what must be said."

"Is he working on something very important right now?" Mello asked. Then he added urgently, "Is it something dangerous?"

Mr. Wammy sighed. "I fear there is more at stake in this case than in any L has had before. L is being pulled along...swept up in it. Outwardly, he's much the same as he always is - determined, confident, controlled. But I have a strong suspicion that this isn't just a run-of-the-mill criminal investigation. This is serious...something that he's never seen before. It's global, and it's deadly. So far only to a specific subset of the population but...nevertheless..."

Mello felt some of his earlier comfort drain away. He didn't like the thought of L being involved in something that sounded so risky.

"I'm not saying this to frighten you, Mr. Kheel. I'm just trying to put you inside L's shoes. It's something you might someday have to do constantly, after all. If you were L...you would be pressured every second of every day. And if that weren't enough for you, you would also have the responsibility of finding another to take your place. And if _that_ were not enough, the candidates that you found would also be asking for more than you felt wholly comfortable giving..."

Mello nodded. He was beginning to see how much he hadn't understood all this time. He was finding that there was much more to L and to their situation than he'd seen before. Mello realized that he'd been selfish all this time. He'd been thinking of himself from the very beginning. He and Near had not been considering L's feelings or the pressures he faced. They hadn't truly considered what they were asking of him - and how much L would really be giving. They hadn't considered _themselves_.

"Mihael..." Mr. Wammy said gently. Mello realized that it was the first time he'd been called by his given name today. The first time he'd been called _Mihael _in a very long time...

"Mihael...there is more in this world than I've dreamt of in my philosophy, perhaps. I won't judge you or Nate or L for the choices you all make. If any of you _weren't_ making choices, and were somehow coerced, I would have a great deal to say. And to do. But as things are...it's not what I would choose for any one of you, I admit. And I won't say I'm not worried about where this will lead...but Mihael, you and Nate should know that this is not a game. It's not a contest and it's not a pastime. You are not as secluded as you think you are. If anything should come to light....I don't need to tell you what would happen to all of you. And especially what would happen to L."

Mello took a deep breath. He thought that he should feel elated by Mr. Wammy's...acceptance? But all he found within himself was a dull kind of numbness.

All he could manage to say was, "Yes, sir."

"But to come back to your reason for coming here today...finding out where L is..." Mr. Wammy said. "You and I both know that he's hiding. And when he hides...I'm sad to say, he hides even from me."

Mello and Mr. Wammy sat in silence for a few seconds following that pronouncement. And then there didn't seem to be anything left that needed saying.

Mello stood up, leaving his untouched teacup on the end table. He thanked Mr. Wammy for his time and his help, and then he left.

Walking back to his bedroom, Mello's head was cloudy with thoughts. By the time he reached his door, they were still swirling. It was like being caught in an tub full of your own misunderstandings and floating helplessly as they swirled down the drain.

When Mello settled himself into bed, he was still feeling the impact of his meeting with Mr. Wammy. And though he felt overwhelmed by what he'd learned, he was also glad.

He was right to go.

_***_

_I suppose this chapter should be treated as an interlude to the one that will follow it. Admittedly, this one does give you a greater glimpse of what's happening and what is likely to happen in the future. But the sexytiems have yet to make their appearance and I know we all want that. :) Anyway, I'm working on the next chapter already. It shouldn't take so long as this one did. I still can't believe my epic fail here....*dies*_

_I'd love to hear what you thought about Mr. Wammy here, and of course about the chapter in general. If all of you haven't lost interest in this fic, that is. ^_^; _

_Thanks for reading!_


	16. The Fall

_Author's Note: _

_*dies of shame* I know it's been...god, six months since the last update. Excuses aren't what you want to hear, I'm sure, so I won't try to give them. All I can do is say that I meant what I said at the outset of this story. It will never be abandoned, even if it _does _take another six months between this chapter and the next....though hopefully it won't. ._

_Also - happy birthday to a special someone. You know who you are. 3_

_Since it's been so long, I'll try to give a little synopsis of the last chapter to prepare y'all for this one. Last chapter, Mello visited Mr. Wammy to ask for help in finding L, who's been hiding from Mello and Near since their...provocative...last meeting. :)_

_And so, for those of you who haven't lost interest and are still kind enough to follow this fic...enjoy!_

Chapter Sixteen - The Fall

"_Nothing makes one so vain as being told one is a sinner. Conscience makes egotists of us all."_

_- Oscar Wilde_

Near needed...to think. To retreat into the mind and shuffle off his corporeal self. His physical body was doing nothing but presenting him with problems, and to leave it to its current period of complete sovereignty would be nothing short of imbecilic. His palms were sweating, his skin was flush. His heart was racing. And Near had been this way off and on for...how many hours?

No...days. It was days now.

It appeared Near's brain was failing him too, in addition to everything else. Mental slackness was something he should be used to by now, but...

Three days. Right. Today was the third day since the meeting. The day after Near wrote a letter to Mr. Wammy, signed his name neatly to the bottom of it, and delivered it personally to Mr. Wammy's office. Hindsight told him that the letter might not have been the best move for him strategically. Careful as his diction might have been, Near knew that an intelligent person would be able to discern the secret he carried if they gave themselves half a chance to see it. At the time, Near had been banking on Mr. Wammy never giving much time or thought to his letter. But now he saw that Mr. Wammy may well have given plenty of time and thought to it - especially if L was hiding from Mr. Wammy too.

Near sighed. That thought was a depressing one. And moreover, it was a contingency that he had no hope of changing or rectifying now. So he would stop thinking about it.

He would stop thinking about that and _start _thinking about profitable things. Like other possible places L could be at the moment. The most sensible and coldly rational part of Near said that this line of thought was unprofitable too, as Near had already spent hours upon hours trying to come up with L's location - fruitlessly every time. Near had no new evidence to go on right now, so there could be no reason to suppose that his conclusions wouldn't be futile once again. The smaller part, though...the not so rational part…the part that was growing and growing every day...the part that had been newly brought to his attention, and was both elating and terrifying all at once...that part was telling Near that he had no choice _but _to think of it. The thought of L was _in _Near now, and trying to fight it was only cowardice. For it was only cowardice to refuse to look at oneself out of fear of seeing the truth.

Near often looked down at his palms when he was by himself. He would pronate his hands on his lap and just stare at them for a while. Do nothing more than that. He enjoyed studying the lines and curves he saw there. Hypothesizing about what had brought them to be. The desire to do this often came to him when Near was feeling particularly introspective, so it was no surprise to him that he wanted to do so now. And because Near wanted to, he did.

This was the pose Near happened be found in, then, when Mello burst into his bedroom.

Near barely, only _barely_ restrained himself from rolling his eyes. On the list of things Near needed right now....Mello bursting into his bedroom was around number...negative 459.

"Near. _Near!_" shouted Mello as he crossed the floor. "This is what you do all day? Sit alone in your room and stare at your hands? Why are you _doing_ that?"

Near simply stared at Mello silently. He knew there was nothing he could say that would end Mello's confusion. Nothing he could say that wouldn't make Mello even more annoyed. So Near said nothing.

When Mello reached Near's position in the middle of the carpet, he stared back, one eyebrow raised and his lips pursed angrily. When it became clear that Near wasn't going to answer him, though, Mello's features relaxed and he visibly deflated.

Mello sighed. "Near, you're..." It looked like the words were putting a bad taste in his mouth. "You're right. It's pointless to discuss that when there are other things to discuss...more important things."

"Like, L, you mean." Near said bluntly. There wasn't time for him to entertain Mello, or even to make the effort to be vaguely cordial. Near had been waiting for L for three days...and if he didn't have _some_ kind of contact soon...of the physical variety, too…well. Near didn't want to contemplate it.

"Yes, Near." Mello sighed again. "Like L. I know about the letter you wrote. I went to see Mr. Wammy in his office yesterday and he told me all about it. You want to see L as much as I do."

"I'm sure you didn't need Mr. Wammy's help to deduce that. You were there with me, with L, in his office. You know I want him, as much as you want him or more."

Mello's features twisted most unattractively at that. "Yes, I _know_ you want him, Near. Mustyou remind me of that fact every chance you get? And for your information, you _don't_ want L more than I do. No one does and no one ever could."

"Of course, Mello. Whatever you say, Mello." Near sighed. This conversation was juvenile _and_ unproductive. Near wanted it to end as soon as possible.

"Was that…sarcasm? From the ice prince himself? Verily, mine ears must deceive me."

Near was rapidly cultivating a desire to push Mello bodily from his bedroom.

"Look, Mello." Near said. "If you've come here to banter with me as a way to distract yourself from your uncontainable lust for L, I want no part in it. And if you've come here to banter with me for any _other _reason, I want no part in that either. All I want is to find the object of our shared affections and find him quickly. Now will you help me in this endeavor or not?"

Mello sneered. "Fine, Near. God, you're such a prick sometimes."

"Perhaps. At the moment I don't know and I don't care. What are your ideas? What places have you looked and what did Mr. Wammy tell you when you visited?"

Mello recited the list of locations he'd already been to in search of L - a list which encompassed roughly the whole of Wammy's House. With every room that Mello rattled off, Near became more and more dejected. Mello had been to every place Near himself had been to, plus the outdoor courtyard. And the…tree house? Which Near hadn't even known was there, and therefore was itself particularly galling. Then Mello launched into the story of how he had met Mr. Wammy and what he'd said about L's whereabouts - namely that they were unknown to everyone but L and would in all likelihood remain that way indefinitely.

If Near were a less self-controlled individual, he might have flopped onto his bedroom floor and wept with frustration.

As it was, he simply said, "I have nothing more to add. We are at a standstill now. Nothing to do but wait."

To Near's surprise, Mello really _did_ flop down onto his bedroom floor. He sank first into an Indian style sitting position and then fell backwards to rest his head against the carpet.

Mello wasn't crying, though. And this was to Near's supreme gratitude, as the sight of tears scared him even on the best of days.

"And how long do you think that will be, Near? Another day? Another week? Another goddamn year?" Mello asked with a sigh. There was a quiet, resigned desperation in his voice. It was a note that Near had never heard in Mello and it made Near…confused.

"Why is it that we're so desperate, Near?" Mello continued. "Why are we so fixated? When I was leaving Mr. Wammy's office, I was thinking…it really is immature. The way we're acting, I mean. I'm lying here wallowing in despair over the idea that I'll never be with L that way, and I know you're doing the same. On the inside, anyway."

Here Mello turned onto his side, propping his head up against his fist and finding Near's eyes. "Our desire has taken over completely…" Mello said. "And even though it's a desire for something grown-up…it really is childish."

Near sighed. Mello was right about that…how infantile it was to focus on nothing but one's own want. How...selfish. It was not something that Near had consciously realized until Mello said the words. It made Near feel disappointed with himself and he resolved immediately to change.

"It is, Mello." said Near. "I agree with you. It is."

Mello nodded to himself in response. Then he asked softly, so softly that Near could barely hear him, "…do we love him, do you think? Do we love him?"

Near felt his mind go numb at the question. It was like brick walls were being constructed between his neurons and thought momentarily became impossible.

Before Near could work out this phenomenon, or find a suitable answer, or even begin to look hard enough within himself to find the truth…something altogether miraculous happened.

Near's bedroom door creaked open and through it walked L Lawliet.

L's sudden and unexpected appearance was made even more miraculous by Near and Mello's positions at the time of his entrance. Near had happened to be sitting facing his door, so he knew L had come the second the door opened. Mello, on the other hand, was lying opposite Near and saw nothing. He apparently _heard_ nothing as well, because when L coughed, Mello nearly rocketed out of his own skin.

"Mother of _GOD_!" he shouted, still scrambling to sit upright. "Who the bloody hell is-?"

Mello stopped short when he finally saw just who the bloody hell it was. From his wide eyes and dilated pupils, Near surmised that Mello was surprised to see L standing in the doorway. Surprised or…knocked completely out of orbit.

Probably the second one. On second thought…definitely the second one. It wasn't a guess anymore.

Mello struggled to stand up as quickly as he could, and Near found himself doing the same. Near was sure they both had the same goal in mind: get to L and touch as much of him as they could as fast as they could before he disappeared again. But Mello and Near hadn't made it two paces toward him before L held out a hand in front of himself in a gentle but unmistakeable symbol for "halt."

"Wait." L said. "Just…just wait."

Near prided himself on his self-control, he really did. But he would be _damned_ if he was about to "wait" for another three days before L was ready to be touched again. Near had come to see his immaturity about L, but that didn't mean his lust was any less potent. And in fact, it almost made Near want L even more. Because now Near felt that he understood himself more deeply and really did _deserve_ to.

L was staring him in the eyes as Near contemplated this entitlement, the black irises boring into Near's own. It was uncomfortable to be pinned under such a gaze…but…it was erotic even more so.

And then L shifted his gaze to Mello, staring him in the eye just as he had done with Near. Standing stock still and not moving a muscle. The only part of him that moved were his eyes, narrowing slightly as he watched.

And then L's eyes came to rest on the carpet in front of him, and he breathed once in and out resolutely. And then…and then, L said, quite plainly and without a hint of uncertainty:

"I'll have sex with you."

It was like cotton balls had been stuffed into Near's ear canals. There was a rush of sound to his mind - like a gust of wind - and then...a softness blotting it out.

"Both of you." L continued. "The same rules apply."

L glanced from Mello to Near and then back to Mello again, as if sizing them up for their reactions. "All of them."

And the cotton balls were promptly pulled out again.

Reality came rushing up again and Near could hardly withstand the impact of the blow. It was like being split in two, L's pronouncement was. On the one hand, L. On the other, Mello. Both of them, or nothing. To refuse was to endure the same piercing longing that had taken Near over for three days...and to accept was to have that longing satisfied, but by the bitterest of means.

L was speaking again.

"I apologize for my sudden and unexplained absence. Our last meeting was not...not what I had expected. Or rather...my reaction to it was not. And with all that is happening..."

There was a short pause, in which L sighed and sunk his hands into his jean pockets. Mello drew in a breath, then asked hesitantly, "What is it that's happening, L?"

"A case." L answered simply. "A case has caught my attention...I've already begun a preliminary investigation. I'll be talking to the ICPO and taking it on formally soon."

"Is it...special, somehow?"

"I...I don't...." L floundered. Then he turned his eyes to Mello and said definitively, his words coming rapidly after each other, "Yes. It is special. I can feel it. I can feel that it is. It's serious. More serious that any I've had before. And I fear that there is more at stake in the outcome than any investigation I've yet undertaken."

Mello nodded at him, uncertainty written plainly in his gaze. Near had no idea if his own uncertainty was so evident. He certainly felt it keenly. First L's staggering assertion, then the strings that came along with it, and now this talk of a monumental case...Near needed time to sort it all out inside himself. He would listen more, and try to begin.

"I will be leaving soon." L continued. "I can't solve this case remotely. Not without delaying its resolution for several weeks. Possibly months. And the...the death toll will rise."

Again Mello was the one to ask the questions. "When? Where?"

"In three days. To Japan."

Mello swallowed. Near could see the Adam's apple that was beginning to form at his throat bob at the movement.

"So we....we'll...be with you...and then you're leaving? Just like that?"

"Yes." L said. "Because I must. I have to. Just as I had to leave you these past few days. I had to....do some thinking. After our meeting, I....well. As I said, I wasn't expecting what happened. And when it did...I had to reevaluate. Make decisions. And the decisions weren't easy to make...but now I have. And here we are."

L made it sound so simple. So easy. Near supposed that it _was _simple for him. He'd had three days to think about the situation. Three days to make his choices. Whereas Near and Mello had spent those three days thinking about nothing but their own lust and how to alleviate it.

Maybe it was best to just follow L's lead. Maybe Near was making it all more complicated than it had to be. L was older, wiser, and had given everything plenty of thought. Near trusted that he knew what he was doing. And as for Near's internal battle about Mello's inclusion…he'd already made his decision, hadn't he? Far earlier, that day in the dining room, when L had made it clear that he couldn't choose. Near had accepted that, and so had Mello. The question of sex was not a question of quality, only of degree. And it was a degree that Near wanted – yearned for, even. So…truly, his mind was made up.

Near had always been a person of action before a person of words. As a rule, he didn't socialize. He didn't speak without a clear intention behind his words, and he didn't speak without thinking first. As a result, Near's speech was often stilted, choppy, and vaguely harsh.

Understanding these things, Near chose to remain silent while he made his move. Harshness and strict purpose would not do here. Near had no delusions of rose petals or honeyed endearments and sweet sighs, but he did hope to achieve at least a modicum of gentleness during the proceedings.

So he walked up to L, as smoothly as he could.

Near had initially thought that he would have to slide a hand into L's hair and pull him down a bit for it to work, but now that he was standing in front of him…Near found that this wasn't the case. L was tall but he tended to slouch, and Near had grown since his days of coming only as high as L's waist. So it was possible for Near to stand on the very tips of his toes and place a single, closed-mouth kiss on L's lips.

When Near pulled back again, he found that L's reaction to this was only to lower his eyes and take a deep breath.

Near took a few steps back, putting himself in line with Mello. He wanted to demonstrate that he was willing to follow through with the arrangement. That he was old enough...mature enough. That he could...share.

And Mello did not miss his cue. But instead of following Near's example and giving L a kiss, Mello raised the stakes. Near knew he should not have been surprised. It was in Mello's nature to be competitive. There was no reason to assume that sex would be the exception.

Mello brought his hands to the hem of his shirt, crossing his arms in front of himself as he did. In one sweeping movement, he pulled the shirt up and off of himself, baring his chest boldly. Near saw L absorbing the sight and fought down the rage inside of him. Near had made his bed. Now he must lie in it.

Mello wasn't muscular by any means but neither was he scrawny. The beginnings of a man's shoulders were evident in his build, as were the hint of biceps.

Near didn't have the beginnings of anything. Parts of him were maturing, but only the parts of him below the waist. And his height. Apart from those two areas, Near was still a child in physique.

But there was nothing to be done about that. And no time to dwell on it further, because Mello was moving swiftly to undo the black leather belt at his hips. His eyes were intense, boring into L's. It was clear that Mello wanted L captive to the sight of him - and so far he was getting just what he desired. L's eyes hadn't moved from Mello in all the time that Near had been watching.

So it was time for Near to do more than watch.

He raised his hands to the fastenings of his white button-down and began work on undoing the first. There was nothing to be gained by modesty or taking one's time here. As they had been throughout this unusual, twisted affair, Near and Mello were competing. And though a coy shyness might have been enticing to L, Near knew that he didn't have the time to risk it. Mello's pants were to his ankles - he was stepping out of them even now. Near had to catch up if L was to look at him at all.

But try as he might, Near could not win. Mello beat him to nudity, standing fully undressed by the time Near made it to his pajama bottoms. Near refused to examine Mello's genitals in any detail. He was liable to take one of his Tinker Toy hammers (which were lying conveniently on his bedside table) to them if he did.

Finally Near had the trousers off, along with his pants. Again he permitted himself no blushes, no averted eyes. This was the body he was given. Though it might not be as sinewy or defined as Mello's, Near hoped that L was caring enough to spare him a glance for his bravery.

Near was rewarded. When he stood completely nude, L's eyes found their way to him, and they did not turn away after. Instead, L scanned him from head to toe.

Wherever L's eyes went, Near's skin suddenly unfolded with feeling. He had a mental image of crimson flowers opening just underneath his flesh, spreading out their petals and thirsting for light. And when L's eyes reached the level of Near's waist, the feeling only intensified, so much that Near began wonder if he could continue to stand upright under the assault. Parts of him were changing, growing, with every second that passed. If Near had turned to look at Mello, he would have seen the same effect mirrored there.

What happened next was like a blur in Near's mind when he thought about it later. He could not have said how it was that L came to kneel at his feet, how it was that he moved as quickly, or as silently as he did. But what Near _did _remember was the most intense sensation he'd ever felt suddenly envelop him...something like he'd never imagined suddenly taking him over and, for that moment, changing Near's entire world.

If Near had had the presence of mind to even remember that Mello was still in the room, he probably would have been far more reserved - stifling his vocal reactions and controlling his facial expressions. As it was, though...Near lost himself completely. There was no way he could register L's exact movements at any given moment...whether it was his lips sliding wetly over the tip or his tongue or whether it was his teeth or his fingernails softly dragging down the length...because the impression of L touching him left no room for any other thought. Near didn't hear the tiny whimpers forming in the back of his throat, or the whines and gasps issuing forth. He didn't see himself bite down on his bottom lip, or the pink flush that stole across his cheeks.

Until, of course, the moment finally arrived in which Near _did _come back to himself. The final culmination of all of L's efforts and the release of days, weeks, _months_ of frustrated desire. Near shouted at that moment - just once, hoarse and loud - and the sound was enough for Near to realize his surroundings again. He looked down and saw that L had not pulled back during the orgasm, that he had instead leaned forward. When L finally leaned back and slid his mouth away, there was no evidence left of the event.

L didn't speak afterwards. He kissed Near gently on the thigh, and then turned away.

Turned away towards Mello.

And so Near knew what would happen next. There was no doubt of L's intentions...and look. There it was. L taking a similar position in front of Mello, bending slightly because Mello was taller. Leaning forward to...

Near couldn't watch, and yet he couldn't look away. The result became a haunted kind of stare, haunted even to Near's own mind. He crossed his legs and lowered himself to the floor, naked still, yet unashamed. The carpet was a little rough against his bottom but Near was glad of it. The discomfort was preferable to any plush, soft flooring at the moment because the sight before him was discomforting too.

Near had known it would happen, and that he would witness it, but it made the act no less damning to his heart. Near stared and stared, without really seeing, as L performed the same acts for Mello that he had for Near. Near didn't allow himself to blink. He only watched, and watched more, as the world around him cracked, and split, and turned to dust.

Mercifully, it was over now. L was standing up, and Mello was reaching down to retrieve his clothes from their places on the floor. Near decided that it was probably best for him to dress himself as well. He got up and slid his pajama bottoms over his legs, fastening them about his waist, before pulling his shirt on and working to button it again.

When he was finished, Near watched L at his place near the door. He stood silently there for a while, looking at nothing in particular. For the first time in all the years that Near had known him, L looked....lost.

And then Near's mind supplied, bluntly, that he also looked aroused. It was obvious even through his baggy jeans.

Suddenly L spoke. "I'll be going now, then," he said, and turned to reach for the doorknob.

"What? Wait!" cried Mello, running over to him partially dressed, only one arm inside his sleeves. He grabbed the hem of L's shirt and tugged on it, unwilling or unable to let L leave.

"You can't go _now_...you're...I mean...."

Mello lowered his eyes awkwardly, and L sighed, putting a hand on his shoulder and easing him gently away.

"It's nothing, Mello. I will see you both tomorrow." L explained, and again made as if to walk away.

But Mello wouldn't let go. "No!" he said defiantly. Before L could move any further, Mello hooked his fingers into the waistband of L's jeans and skimmed them around to the front, where the button and zip were.

Near was more than jealous of the way that L visibly responded to this. At Mello's touch, L inhaled sharply, his whole body tensing.

"You can't leave until you're taken care of too." Mello told him, in a tone that brooked no argument. "It wouldn't be right. You can't give and give without receiving yourself."

L watched Mello carefully after that, his face impassive. But there was indecision shining in his eyes, brightly and for all to see. Indecision, and temptation.

L turned to Near and watched him too. Near knew that L was searching for something in his face, some hint of acceptance. And so Near gave L something better.

He walked forward to stand next to Mello, and reached out with one hand to cover Mello's own where it lay at the fastenings of L's jeans.

"He's right." Near said, and then he knew it was all over.

L's breathing grew rapid and shallow as Near and Mello worked together to undress him. Near handled the button, Mello the zip. Together they eased down the pants, along with underwear, until they pooled at L's feet. L stepped out of them and nudged the garments aside, apprehension written plainly across his features.

It was Near and Mello that knelt now. L was larger than the two of them, and it came as no surprise. L was taller, older, far past puberty, and had spent a longer time aroused than Near and Mello had besides.

Then Mello took hold of him, lightly around the base, and licked once at the tip. When Mello pulled back, Near leaned in to take his place, taking a lick of his own. From then on they worked in tandem like this, touching and licking and sucking, each in their own turn.

As it continued, Near chanced to look up at L's face. L was watching the proceedings with a wide-eyed, almost fearful fascination. He was still breathing shallowly and Near could see the tiniest beads of perspiration along his neck and shoulders.

Then Near looked down again, finding that Mello had decided to go further - now taking as much of L as he could into his mouth. When Mello pulled back for air, Near went in and mimicked him as before. L felt full, heavy in his mouth and Near enjoyed it immensely. And so the pattern continued again, with L becoming increasingly absorbed. Near felt L's left hand slide into his hair, and instinctively knew that the right would be sliding into Mello's. At first the fingers only lingered there, still. Then they began to tighten and clench nearly to the point of pain.

L wasn't looking at either of them by the end. His eyes were squeezed shut, eyebrows drawn tight together. It was plain that he was in agony.

Then his body convulsed, once, sharply. And quiet as a mouse, but as clear as bell, L let out a harsh whisper.

"Forgive me."

_This chapter was written in part while I was in the home of a very dear friend of mine, a person who is absolutely the Mello to my Near. And while I'm sure I've frustrated her in a myriad of ways - all the ways Near himself frustrates Mello in canon, and probably more - she still welcomed me with open arms. So this is for her, with my sincere apologies for all past and future (should I be so lucky) frustrations._

_I won't say when the next chapter will be released…or written. I used to be fairly disciplined and good about keeping deadlines, but those days are long gone. Lol So for now, I will only say: Thanks so much for reading and I will see you all next chapter!_

_- Magic_


	17. Last Chance

_Author's Note: _

_This chapter experienced just about every bad thing that a chapter can...with the large exception of pure abandonment. And each of these things, as is true in all such cases, was the author's fault. Major life occurrences notwithstanding, I take responsibility for that. And I apologize to my readers - one particular reader especially - for the long space of time since The Love Below was last updated. In addition, I would like to sincerely thank all who have stayed with me through that time, and all who have reviewed thus far._

_I can truly say that this story has changed my life in a deep and profound manner, and, as it nearing its final chapter, I do hope that I have given this novel all the spirit and fire that it has given me. I don't know how often it is that writing a story can move such mountains, but when it does...a writer's attention must be paid. _

_Also, thank you for the rough patches through this. You know who you are._

_

* * *

_Chapter Seventeen - Last Chance

_"Human love! Love is not an inhabitant of the earth. We worship him as the Athenians did their unknown God: but broken hearts are the martyrs of his faith, and the eye shall never see the form which phantasy paints, and which passion pursues through paths of delusive beauty, among flowers whose odours are agonies, and trees whose gums are poison."_

_-Thomas Love Peacock, _Nightmare Abbey

Mello ought to be working on his essay...he _really_ ought to be working on his essay. The thing was due on Monday and, piss-ant that he was, Professor Laurel would never accept it handed in late. But Mello was having so much trouble concentrating right now! Every little thing around him seemed to be screaming for his attention. The grain of the wood on his desk top...the sound of the old air conditioner whirring overhead...things that were normally minutiae were now like giant elephants in the room.

Mello reached for the pen at the corner of his keyboard. Slipping the cap between his lips and chewing at it restlessly, he decided to screw the essay. For now anyway. He'd come back to it later. Or maybe he wouldn't. Or maybe he would. He needed the grade, after all, if he wanted L to...

Mello sighed. The last time he'd seen L had been remarkable and glorious and fantastic and special and...here Mello set his pen down again. For everything it had been, it was still...Mello didn't regret it. Mother of God, no. He'd do it all again in a heartbeat, and in fact was aiming to as soon as he could. Mello thought he had felt connected to L before...it was nothing compared to how he felt now.

And yet...there were...things. Not problems, exactly, just...things. Issues, perhaps. That was a good term for it. Issues.

Near, for instance. Near was an issue. Mello picked up his pen once more and set to drumming it rhythmically against the edge of his desk. Mello _knew _he'd brought this on himself - he _knew _it. He'd agreed already to Near's presence. Told L it was okay. Signed his name on the dotted line of a contract written in tears. And yet...and yet it was _agony _to have him there. Seeing L touch Near in any place at all made Mello smolder inside with rage. To see him touch Near _there_...wrap his lips around him _there_...

The _tap tap tap _of the pen's rhythm increased in speed and volume. Mello felt sick...and restless. He needed an outlet for his frustrations.

And no sooner had the thought run through Mello's mind than his bedroom door opened to reveal Near.

"Jesus!" Mello demanded, rocketing out of his chair. "Don't you ever _knock_?"

"Perhaps a visit to the otologist is in order." Near mumbled. "I did knock. Leaving without speaking to you was out of the question, so here I am."

Mello looked Near up and down and saw that he was apparently reluctant to set one foot on Mello's carpet. Near hung in the doorway, looking anywhere but into Mello's eyes.

This was so typical of him. Do something insensitive and then claim he had every reason to. That it was _Mello's _fault he was affronted. Of course _Near _couldn't have made a mistake. Or maybe it wasn't typical of Near at all. Maybe this was a new branch of trickery designed for some other nefarious purpose.

"You're a liar, Near." Mello said. "I would have heard you!"

Near glanced up and met Mello's eyes just once before dropping them again. Beyond that, he didn't say a word.

Mello felt a hot rush of shame add itself to the mix of an already heady emotional cocktail. An apology forced its way past his lips.

"I'm sorry, Near...fuck."

Mello knew that Near hadn't lied to him...it was just...there was so much...too much going on...and then...

But Near nodded the apology away and acted as if all was instantly forgiven. Maybe it was. Though he still wouldn't meet Mello's eyes, choosing instead to look at some far off point on the floor.

"L told me to come here," he said. "He said he would be here after I arrived."

And after a few moments of shifty looks and awkward silence, Mello saw that this was true. L came upon Near from behind - Mello saw from over Near's shoulder. Near must have heard him approaching, because he turned to look over his shoulder. He said hello to L. Mumbling once again. Then he stepped out of the doorway to let him pass, and Mello saw that L was wearing his usual white shirt and blue jeans, hair still in disarray.

While it was novel to have L in his bedroom, it was _not _novel anymore for L to call unexpected meetings. Mello had only to wait for what he would announce.

L said nothing by way of greeting. He simply stated, "Today we're going someplace new. My bedroom."

Then he turned and set off for the hallway outside, and Mello and Near followed.

* * *

It was everything and nothing all at once. Everything and nothing that Mello expected. He'd expected something large, something grand, something intimidating somehow. And it was. It was all of those things. The ceiling was high, arched in the center...a simple but imposing chandelier hung from its middle. No light shown from its crystalline fixtures, though. No light shown from any of the lamps or sconces around the room. Only shadows, and a dim ray of tonight's full moon. Everywhere Mello looked there seemed to be windows, but they were all partially obscured by heavy curtains. Especially the one behind the bed. Its curtains hung haphazardly from one corner - draping to the floor gracelessly and mirroring the rumpled state of the bed.

And this was where Mello found nothing that he had expected. Because he had never dreamed that this bed would be so...sad. Sad was not the right word but it was all his mind could supply. More like a desert than an oasis...more despairing than a place of refuge and rest should ever be. A single pillow. A tattered coverlet, hanging onto the bed itself only by one corner, the rest lying in a heap on the floor. It was the biggest bed Mello had ever seen, but it was also the loneliest.

This was not the place that the world's greatest detective ought to call his own. It looked more suited to an abandoned pauper than a pampered billionaire like L. And at the same time...

At the same time, Mello could see elements of L's self inside the room. The solitude...the intensity. The other-worldly sense of time and space...as though this room existed outside anything Mello had known before. And there was a certain...charm about the place, despite some of its furnishings being worn. Much like L the person, the room did not dress itself in expensive silks or mind odd looks from passersby. It contained what it contained and was as it was - and that was enough.

"It's raining," Mello heard L say.

He was looking out of one of those large windows, hands held loosely in his pockets. His back was curved slightly, in its usual fashion. Just enough to form a pronounced slouch but not so much that any deformity was called into question.

"It's nice," Near said next. Mello found that Near was right: the rain made the world outside L's window look like a watercolor painting...the colors running together...shapes indistinct. And it formed a beautiful kind of music as it fell. Constant and smooth and steady. No thunder. Just soft beating.

From his place at one of the end-tables, Near crossed the room and laid himself down on L's worn bed. L watched him as he went, expressionless. He made no sound and moved no muscle in protest...simply gazed as it happened.

There was a time when Mello would have been astonished by Near's audacity but by now he had come to understand a little of how Near ticked. They were not so very different, Mello thought, when it all came down to it. Their places in the world were nearly identical. And they both wanted the same things. To Near, this was just the most direct way of chasing his goal.

...tactless though it may be.

But L seemed to pay it no mind...it was like he was in another world entirely, as well as being here and in the moment. Mello had always loved how L had the ability to inhabit two spaces at once...how his mind could take him to different places and still hold the present one inside itself.

It was time for Mello to play his part though. Make up for Near's utter lack of finesse. He went to L and took his hand gently...trying to bring him more fully into the present moment. When L looked down at him, Mello tried his best to give a warm smile. But L looked back at him with empty eyes. Mello did his best to hurry L towards the bed, but with each footfall, it seemed that L was moving more and more slowly. In between shooting him encouraging looks, Mello saw that L's expression grew increasingly somber. The shadows that played about the room darkened around them, almost too quickly to be believed natural, and they seemed to darken on his face.

Mello let go of L's hand when they were close. He arranged himself opposite Near on the bed, lying there and waiting for L to take the last steps.

By the time L reached the bed too, it was like a spell had been cast. By what or by whom, Mello didn't know, but it was there. His eyes were intent on the place where Mello and Near both lay...deep and unyielding. If L were eager to approach them, he didn't show it. And if he were reluctant, he didn't show that either. There was just the action of his hands setting themselves palm down on the coverlet...the bend of his knee as it too fell onto the sheets, bringing L to them.

He loomed over them, on hands and knees, in a way that was entirely nonthreatening. To his right, Mello saw Near reach up a hand and trace it down the front of L's white shirt. Near's skin was so pale that his hand was nearly indistinguishable from the material. Especially in the darkness. And L let it happen...he even lowered himself a bit into the touch.

Odd that Mello no longer felt the edge of competition urging him to push Near away. Jealousy ate at him, to be sure...and that _did_ urge him. But to _compete_...to _win_...

Without his conscious thought, Mello's hand reached up and slid itself into L's black hair. The locks were so soft under his palm...and L's eyes drooped closed when Mello stroked...one smooth exhale exiting that perfect mouth.

It was so quiet...and so dark...and so still...

Too long had it been rushed between them...too long had the frenzy of games and the quest to prove oneself pushed any...any _peace_ out of this. Mello was so grateful for L's suggestion of coming here...without the seclusion of L's own room...he may never have known such tranquility...

A slice of moon-ray pierced the window before the bed, catching on L's back and illuminating the edges of his form with a soft glow. Especially around the sharp edges of his hair, where Mello noticed a pronounced halo effect. He thought it was beautiful. And fitting.

L moved out of the moon-ray quickly, though, and into the shadow. Bangs obscuring his eyes, he ducked his head down over Near. Mello could tell from the soft smacking sound that L was kissing him. And while the whole thing made his stomach ache inside, as it had every single time before (and in addition to ache: boil, and burn), some part of Mello was...what? Captivated? Bewitched? Something. Something that left him bound as tightly as if there were cords of rope around his wrists. Involuntarily, he removed his hand from L's hair and it fell to the mattress with a thump.

And here Near's hands took over Mello's...they were sinking into the strands while L kissed him, slow and gentle and soft. Near was perfectly still underneath L, except for those hands moving relentlessly through his hair.

Here L held his weight up with one hand alone and used the other to maneuver down Near's side. His hand dragged down the rough cotton of Near's pajama top to its hem, and then slipped up underneath it, running its way up the skin of Near's chest. Mello had never touched Near that way (and never cared to!) but he could imagine the softness L must be relishing. Near was every inch a virgin. Mello himself was too, but he knew that his skin was rougher. It made him wish he had spent less time carousing outdoors and more time sitting still with a book, as Near had.

Finally they broke for air. By this time, Near's top was pushed high - bunching up underneath his chin. White chest exposed, he showed no hint of embarrassment. Mello found that Near only looked dazed...and tired. His ribs rose and fell with heavy breathing.

L himself looked much the same, though more subdued. And Mello could see him better with every passing second, because now he was leaving Near behind and advancing ever closer. His eyes were darker than Mello had ever seen them...

And his lips were just as warm. They moved over Mello's easily, and some distant part of his mind realized that they'd already found a rhythm together. A gentle to and fro that set Mello's heart pounding and his blood racing. And that was even before L's tongue snaked out to curl itself around his own. Mello realized his hands were sliding over L's back, up and down, finding no purchase anywhere and not much caring.

But he could hear Near shuffling around beside him, followed by the faint sound of buttons popping.

Mello was slipping closer and closer to the edge of the mattress, almost ready to tumble off its precipice. But there was L...always there to guide him. Mello felt his hand at his hip, easing him back towards the center. And when he was finally where he'd started, L's hand slid down his thigh and hooked itself under his knee, hiking Mello's leg up and around L's waist.

Mello could happily have stayed in such a position for the rest of his life, how good did it feel to be locked so close to L. Lips and hips as one. But then L pulled his mouth away and reached blindly out for Near. Mello watched as their lips met again, this time above his head. Still his leg was wrapped around L's waist, and for the first time, Mello saw, concretely, that L was truly with them both. It was amazing that L could handle both of them and not spread himself too thin at any point.

Mello saw that Near had gotten his pajama top completely removed and had moved on to divesting himself of his pants, even as L kissed him. And as though he wanted to create some strange mirror image, L's fingers slid down Mello's thigh and up to the waistband of his trousers, working the buttons open nimbly.

There were matching sighs from the two of them after that. Mello realized that he shouldn't be surprised that L could multitask. L could do anything.

And he could apparently _time _anything as well, because just as Mello and Near's sighs were turning to gasps and moans, L stopped and...eased away from them. Mello was too powerless against the feeling to protest. All he could do was wait. He saw L lean over the left edge of the mattress and rummage about underneath the bedskirt, coming back holding something tiny filled with clear liquid.

Mello knew what that would be. He just didn't know what he ought to do.

It turned out that while it wasn't easy, it wasn't difficult either. There was rearranging to be done...testing and experimentation of what was working and what was not...but in the end, it was not long before Mello felt him slide just _there..._and everything he'd ever read about this - things like ownership and claiming and marking turned out to be only half-truths. Because if L was claiming Mello, Mello was claiming him right back. It wasn't more taking than giving...it wasn't to hurt him, or to chain him up...and neither was it a purely selfless act...it was to bend him without breaking...

Too much time (and too little) passed before it was over. And it was over only for one, because L wasn't finished yet, Mello saw, though Mello himself was plainly spent. There was more fumbling around and more slickness to be had in more places...now Near was in for something that Mello knew he wasn't likely to forget.

He heard Near say something about doing it another way, and then there was even more rearranging, but soon enough it was happening.

Mello felt tears prick at his eyes but they didn't fall. He thought about turning his back on them while it went on, just to spare himself the sight, but as it was ending, he realized he hadn't made up his mind in time. It was already too late to turn over. He'd seen it all, and somehow managed it.

Then L crawled between the two of them and pulled back the sheets. Mello struggled to be quick about settling himself underneath the covers, and saw Near do the same on the other side, but both of them were rather the worse for wear and speed wasn't on their side.

L didn't seem to mind the time it took. He laid down with them and rested his head directly on the mattress, leaving the one pillow to the side for Mello or Near to use. He closed his eyes.

But Mello doubted that he got any sleep.

* * *

The sun wasn't out when Mello opened his eyes again. Not even the glimmer of a few rays shone on the horizon. The outside world was still all moonlight and shadows. But the rain had stopped.

Someone, probably L, had lit one of the sconces. It gave off enough light for Mello to see that Near was awake too. He was sitting with his back propped up against the headboard. His knees were raised up against his bare chest and the fingers of one hand were twirling a lock of hair over and over.

"Mello is awake," he said. At first Mello thought Near was simply stating the obvious - as he often did - to make some obscure point. But then Mello found that he was actually alerting L.

L, who was standing at one of the far windows again, looking out into the night with his hands in his pockets. At Near's words, he turned and made his way back to the bed, taking a seat on the edge. He sat with his back to the both of them, as though he wouldn't (or couldn't) lose sight of that window.

Mello hurried to rub the sleep out of his eyes and sit up straight. Right now, it didn't matter that he was only half-dressed in an unfamiliar bed. Mello could feel it inside himself that L wanted to talk now, and say something important. All the rest could wait.

"It's time to say goodbye."

He said it like it was a simple fact. Something that he'd been waiting to say for quite some time.

Mello saw the fingers twisting in and out of Near's hair abruptly stop.

"You both will remember the case I told you about...? It's happening...I warned you that I would have to leave. And now I must. He's...that is to say...the one who...well...the stakes have been raised. If I am to go, I am to go now. Or never."

Still L wasn't turning to meet Mello's eyes, or Near's.

"I want you both to know that I didn't plan things to be this way. I didn't...I never...What's done is done, but I...I find myself clinging to the hope that I have done more good than harm. And I have never before had to reassure myself of such a thing."

Mello opened his mouth to speak. To say what, he didn't know. Something. Something wise, or at least comforting. But the words never came, and L continued on.

"However...I know at least that my original goal remains intact. And even better...it has been met." L sounded dully pleased by this. He shifted a bit in his perch on the bed.

"I have made my decision."

The words lingered on the air for some time before being swept away by the next.

"When I return from Japan, I will tell you who my successor is to be. I know the choice has been long in coming...and I do apologize for that. You two are the last people I need to explain this to but...L's job is a serious one. I needed to be sure. Maybe I could have been more efficient in the choosing, but..." L's voice trailed off into nothingness.

Finally Mello found it in himself to speak.

"Why are you waiting to tell us who it is?" he asked. "Why not now?"

Apparently this question was enough to tear L's gaze from his beloved windows and bring it forward to his audience. He turned his whole body toward Mello and Near, and looked them in the eye, before he answered.

"Because to tell you now would be to unleash more problems on an already problematic world."

Suddenly Near spoke up. His voice sounded as calm and monotonous as ever, but Mello still thought he heard a twinge of regret underneath. "When will you return?"

"I don't know...I only know that I will be back." L said. And with that, he turned away again.

The three of them sat in silence after that. There didn't seem to be much left to say, or to think. Though there was plenty to feel...and Mello thought maybe they were each taking the time to feel it in their own way. He himself was sprawled out on the bed with no particular attention to where his limbs fell. One foot was tapping on the sheets in a fit of fidgeting. Near was still, as usual. Staring at the floor. And L...L was held still, but poised. Like he was listening.

Finally he stood up, turned around, and crawled onto the bed between them again. But unlike hours before, there was nothing sexual in the gesture.

"I leave tonight." L said. Then he reached up and cradled Near's jaw in one hand, kissing him softly on the forehead. Near's eyes slipped closed as he did. Next L turned to Mello, and repeated the gentle touch at his cheek, and repeated the kiss.

And even before Mello felt his lips ghost away, it seemed, L was off the bed, and gathering up a cell phone from the bedside table, and was gone.

When Mello saw L walk out of the room that night, he thought he'd heard bells.


End file.
